


Knives

by SparrowGlas



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Bottom Kyle Broflovski, Corruption, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Rough Sex, Sex, Size Difference, Top Eric Cartman, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 97,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25355980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowGlas/pseuds/SparrowGlas
Summary: South Park is dominated by the Knives; a street gang ruled by their own code of conduct and a strange sense of loyalty to the town they grew up in. Keeping the balance is key, but when a new threat to their way of life presents itself, things get messy. The Boss really doesn't like it when things don't go his way.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger
Comments: 40
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter One

The blonde wailed beneath him, slender thighs trembling and chest heaving as he fought to take in breath after desperate breath. His yellow curls were splayed on the satin pillow beneath his head, his blue eyes bright with tears as they stared up at him. Smooth, peachy skin was flushed pink, covered in a layer of slick sweat as he wrapped small hands around the tan arms resting on either side of his head.

A sudden shriek of music brought the taller man's head snapping up with a growl, one hand trailing down the squirming stomach of the boy beneath him as he reached lazily for the phone on the nightstand, checking the name before flipping it open with a bored sigh.

"Ya, Boss?"

Kenny listened with one eyebrow cocked, dark blue eyes fixed on Butters where the younger had stilled like a spooked rabbit against the sheets. A flash of teeth grinned down at him before Kenny's hand cupped between his legs and a high pitched whine filled the room. Dark laughter echoed it as Kenny ran his tongue against his bottom lip, attention loosely focused on the low voice at the other end of the phone. He groaned as he caught the tail end of the interruption.

"What d'you mean you want me on patrol, I did my hours, Boss! I'm a little fuckin' preoccupied if ya can't hear?"

The low growl that answered him over the mobile had him rolling his eyes before Boss was speaking again, voice agitated. Kenny straightened his spine and cast a short flicker of apprehension towards the small body still wriggling beneath him. "I'm on it, Boss."

He snapped the phone shut, breath leaving his lips in a hiss before he smiled a sad smile down at his little lover. Butters smiled back softly, fingers lifting to comb through the unruly golden crown of Kenny's hair. "You gotta go back to work, don't you?"

Kenny pressed a soft kiss to the boy's soft lips. "I'm sorry, princess."

Butters chuckled, sweet and understanding, his pert nose rubbing against Kenny's before he gently pushed the taller youth backwards, blushing when he was rewarded with the image of his buck naked boyfriend sprawled against their bed sheets. "Go do what you gotta do, Kenny, I'm not goin' nowhere. I'll be right here when you get back."

Kenny caught the boy's lips in a fierce kiss once more before standing to stretch his six foot tall frame of tanned, lithe muscle. "You had best be, princess. If I find so much as a hair outta place, it's gonna mean punishment."

Butters let loose a soft peal of laughter, bouncing back down on the warm, slick sheets with a devilish blush and a wriggle of his short frame. "Like I said, Kenny. I ain't goin' nowhere."

###

Stan raked blue eyes over the parking lot. He had been on duty for the last hour, as bored out of his mind as he usually was during a run of the town. That was, until he had seen the bright and shiny silver Cadillac pull into the corner street from the pitch black motorway and stall in the lot of one of the fancier motels that had been built around the place in the past five years.

South Park was not the sleepy snowed in village of his childhood days. Global greed had turned it into something of a stop off city. With the motorway that bulldozed through the flatter lands of the east, the town had slopped to the sides to accommodate. Hotels, bars, hazy diners and cheesy tourist shops had piled high and fast in the years that followed, the once thick white snow that had fallen even in spring had been reduced to a long, dark five months of winter from August to December, before slushing away to nothing come the new year; as if it could already feel the heat from the oncoming cars that would pummel through and around the city come summer in search of cheap holidays and a poor excuse for a mountain view.

Stan sneered, flicking the butt of his cigarette from the rolled down window of his Carrera. The pretty town from his past had turned to rot, only a few redeemable patches scattered about, like the renovated High School with the honours classes and the parks that drew tourists like busy little bees. The people who lived here were no better. Soured by missed chances and having to live the same old drivel every day and every night, was it any wonder when the place fell prey to petty theft and random assault? Then the police force went to shit. 

He dragged slender, pale fingers dragged through his messy black hair, long legs stretching beneath the wheel of the car. But then, that's why he was out at one o clock in the fucking morning, patrolling the streets like fucking Batman and making sure no wayward teen got hauled down some dark alley and pissed themselves. His teeth clenched, mouth lifting in a sadistic grin. Not that there had been much trouble on the streets since the Knives had been on lookout. Three years they had been the reason why people looked over their shoulders at night and bolted their doors. Three years they had raked down every thick outsider who thought he'd have a piece of their land. Three years they had done better than the fucking police forces to squash crime to a minimum and make a name for themselves.

They ruled with fear. Not a pretty concept but one that got the ball rolling, so to speak, and a few heads too. For the first while they had discriminated against no one. Innocent, guilty, weak, strong; if you were accused of it or felt a flicker in your spirit for an act of rebellious fun, you were a dead man. It served its purpose. Brought order to the streets and made people grow an ounce of respect back for the city of South Park. The money they made on protection fees alone was enough to make up for the lame ass hours.

It had been a month since anything beyond a few upstarts trying to chance their arm had happened, and Stan had almost convinced himself that South Park had again fallen back to its boring old ways of monotony and following whatever law was stamped over their heads. That was, until the strange car had pulled up in the first motel with enough money to have standards. He had been too late to see who it was that had arrived in the city at 1.26 am on a Tuesday morning and the darkness of the new vehicle told him the driver had already left to find a room and settle in.

It didn't sit right with him, and so he had done as he had been trained to do and phoned Boss. Cartman was the head honcho for the Knives, ruling over the town from a manor house west of the city centre. Like some ironic fucking blow to the stomach, they hadn't even realised how swift his climb and theirs had been to the top purely because he hadn't even gloated. Something had ground a halt to the young boy's whining tongue as they grew older. In the years they had worked to earn their name and badge of fear, the Knives had bonded like a family, swift to guard their brother's backs. They were savage in their defense of the name of Eric Cartman; which, in the early days, had dripped with so much hate from the South Park residents that it had called for more than a swift beating in the parking lot after school. Cartman had shown them how to turn their shitty town around, he was the Boss.H was order and he was protection, if he deemed you worth it. It wasn't hard to feel respect for the man the 'fatass' had become and it didn't hurt that he was built like a fucking tank. Stan chuckled, teeth clicking. Cartman was a giant of a man at six foot seven, his shoulders broad from years of training and his muscles deceptively thick beneath his clothes. Intimidation was key and Boss held more of it in one dark eyed glare than any other man twice his bulk.

"Gunner."

The motion was so swift it would have been missed by slower eyes. One moment Stan's body had been the epitome of relaxation, lounged in the front car seat, but with the interruption to his thoughts his hand had clasped over and aimed the gun in his waistband before even he could think on the reflex. A sultry laugh had the gun withdrawing from where he held it frozen outside the car, his eyes rolling as the side door to his prized possession was yanked open and a slender body wrapped in an orange hoody and combat trousers slinked inside.

"Don't fuckin' sneak up on me, Killer, I could've shot you."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Kenny flashed his pearly whites in the near darkness, his tousled blonde hair thoroughly fucked up and hanging over his cobalt eyes. Stan grinned.

"How's princess?"

Kenny huffed, drawing a lighter from his pockets to light the cigarette already dangling from his pink lips. He breathed in the fumes like it was incense, jerking the seat back to prop his booted feet on the dash of Stan's car. "Maybe if you went back to school, you'd see him more often. He's doing good, was asking for you too."

Stan snorted, lifting a leg in the tight space to kick Kenny's boots down from his dash. "Like I'd bother with all that shit when I've got all fucking this waiting for me. I've no time for times tables and fuckin' biology, Killer, same as you've no time to be wasted with that sorry ass family of yours. I'm nineteen, I'd be done by now anyway."

"All I'm sayin' is," Kenny puffed out the smoke in thin tendrils, "coulda made something' of yourself beyond all this. Star quarterback you were, Gunner."

Stan opened his mouth to disagree, only to have a dark voice from the backseat interrupt.

"Much as I enjoy listening to lover's quarrels, boys, mind tellin' me why my ass was dragged outta bed?"

Stan's gun found a new target in the semi darkness, only for Kenny's hoarse laugh to have him drawing back with a snarl. "How the fuck did you get in the backseat, shithead?"

Craig leaned forward from the shadows, skin deathly pale in the light of the street lamps. His grey eyes were almost silver, his thick black hair peeking from beneath a wool cap pulled to one side. He grinned, stretching the thin white scar that ran from his right eye down his cheek. "Name's not Ghost for my shy personality, Gunner, now is it? What's goin' on?"

Stan turned away from Craig, eyes pinning on the car standing out like a shiny penny amidst busted up trucks and empty spaces. "Followed 'em from the main motorway straight down. Thought at first, with it bein' so late, that they were tryna get away from someone but nah, drove too slow. Like they were surveyin' the fuckin' scenery. They sprinted off when they got wind of me following 'em and that's when I phoned Boss but by the time I got here they'd gone in and no word since."

"Any idea how many were in the car?" Kenny asked, eyes flicking over every inch of the silver car and committing it to memory.

"More than two. Could be my paranoia, Killer, but I just don't like it. It's January, the tourists don't start flockin' till March at the earliest and every stop and go for rest and refuel is routine. This just ain't sittin' right with me."

"With Boss neither if he wants an ID enough to send three of us to one motel." Craig leaned against Stan's chair, tongue dragging over his teeth. "Let me have a look."

He was gone before either boy could protest, not so much as the slam of a car door to alert the pair in front until they caught sight of his dark clothes nearly blending in with the shadows that littered the 'occupied' rooms. To this day it baffled Stan how quick and silent Craig could be when he wasn't butting heads with Boss. He returned with only the slightest click of the car door locking down, his breath parting his lips as he leaned between the two seats. "Can't see shit. Looks like we're gonna have to play this one by ear, boys. Guilty until proven innocent."

Kenny hummed in agreement as he raised his ringing phone to his ear, Cartman's low drawl filling the silence when the blonde filled him in. He snapped the call off with a shrug. "Legs is out on patrol by the northern border, she's on her way to babysit with you, Gunner, until one of the newbie's takes over. Go home to Blondie, Ghost, if we miss 'em with the shift change, we miss 'em. We'll just have to stay on guard."

Craig was gone without a word, no doubt to smother Tweek in bed before he had to get up again for his shift. Stan lit up another cigarette, lips curving. "Go home, Killer. Nothin's gonna happen tonight."

"Famous last words." Kenny smirked as he pulled Stan's fag from his lips and popped it between his own, getting out of the Carrera with a throaty laugh. Stan rolled his eyes at his childhood friend, fingers carding his black hair back into place. Wendy would give him hell if she saw it so out of place.

###

Kyle groaned as he stretched, standing on tiptoe to reach the science book from the stack in his locker. His black shirt rode up, displaying skin so pale it was almost white and he tossed back brazen red curls when they sank in front of one of his green eyes.

"Get a side fringe, Kyle," the redhead mimicked with a wry twist of his lips, "it'll look so cool on you! Last time I listen to you, Ike."

"Hey Kyle."

Kyle gripped his book to his chest with a satisfied sigh, slamming the locker shut to smile brightly at the blonde boy that stood a fraction of an inch over him. "Hi Butters, how're you?"

"Ah, I'm good, Kyle," the blonde tucked a stray blonde curl behind his ear as the pair turned towards Chemistry class, "Ah, I know you're not gone on when I bring it up but Ken, well, he was asking for you, said he'd be around the Ball-Out diner tonight with Stan if you wanna hang out?"

Kyle's eye twitched, his lips pulling into a grimace as he turned to face his friend. "I dunno, Butters... the guys and I haven't been very close in a long while and there's that English test tomorrow, I should really study."

Butters gave him a dry glare, so odd to see on what had once been a face reserved only for confusion and giddy joy, it made Kyle blush at his own petty excuses. "You're going, Kyle. I've mom and dad coming over for dinner in the apartment tonight, otherwise I'd join you but at the same time, this'll be good for you. Face the awkwardness head on. I know you guys aren't the same but once you meet up, ye have a ball, don't ye?"

Kyle pouted, his bottom lip sticking out and his nose wrinkling the scattered freckles above it. He wouldn't so much call it having a ball as missing his friends enough to put up with whatever bullshit conversation they started. "Ya, I guess so. I haven't seen 'em in a while though, ever since they dropped out it just got weirder. I mean I've talked to them around town, like, but a meet up?" he glared at the blonde suspiciously, "you didn't arrange this, did you?"

"Who, me?" Butters fluttered his eyelashes prettily, chuckling loudly, "never Kyle!"

Kyle's glare was broken off by something rounding the corner and colliding with his shoulder heavily, sending him down to the ground.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry, so very sorry, I just got so flustered at not being able to find the Chemistry Class, I wasn't watching where I was going. Do please forgive me, won't you?"

Hands dragged Kyle back to a standing position, Butters and the new person both hauling him off his backside, before he turned on the stranger. "Is that a British accent?"

The force that had collided with him was no taller than Kyle himself, dressed in stylish jeans and a vivid green shirt. He grinned widely, his bob-like blonde haircut bouncing as he nodded. "Indeed it is! Watered down, mind you, I haven't been home in quite some time and I have been travelling. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Kyle chuckled, dusting off his backside, "I'm fine, thanks. Hey, we're going to Chemistry, need a hand?"

The new kid's green eyes sparkled, his smile becoming thankful. He held out a slim hand to shake, smiling brightly at Butters. "Why, yes, thank you. My name's Pip and as you can tell, I'm new here."

###

He should have never come out here.

Kyle sighed from where he sat on a low wall outside the side of the diner that he was supposed to be meeting his so called friends at. That had been an hour ago and it was now nearing eight o clock and the sky had gotten ridiculously dark. The streetlights flickering on had had his heart hammering in his chest, his teeth biting his bottom lip while he considered cutting his losses and just going home. As it was, the walk would take him another ten minutes in the dark and that was not a clever thing to do in South Park. True, he was somewhat safer than he would have been four or five years ago. At least now if he got attacked or mugged, a patrol would swing back and find him eventually. He used to know the shifts by clockwork, though with the new recruits and change in status, he had no idea if his friends were simply running late on patrol or had forgotten about him completely.

He sank further against the wall at his back, his green jacket not holding nearly as much heat as it had last year. It was cold in South Park this time of year, some parts still treacherous with ice and muddy with slush. He should just go home. It was stupid having stayed out this late. Kyle couldn't help the twist of his lips as he dropped down from the wall, blowing into his cupped hands. Some friends Stan and Kenny had turned out to be. They had loyalty only to Cartman now, no intentions of finishing school and having a life, just happy to mess about with guns and knives. Kyle shuddered, but it wasn't a mess, really. It wasn't a game like the kind they had played as children, why couldn't the rest see that? Kyle had rebelled against the Knives from the start, tore away from his best friends to protect his own sensibilities. He wanted nothing to do with Cartman and his stupid attempts at power.

Kyle's eyes narrowed. His own home was in a Knives branded area. He knew well that his father was paying protection fees and his mother was quick to shut him up when he sneered at any mention of the gang. They had all the power and they knew it and he was stupid to think their little meet ups would pull Stan and Kenny from their obsession. His friends didn't give a shit about him anymore. He was so stupid to even entertain the idea. Idiot.

"You're out late, pretty boy."

Kyle's head snapped up, his body freezing from where he'd been walking towards the residential area his parents lived in. A group of five... men? Teens? had stepped from a car he hadn't even noticed in his moment of self pity. Jesus, he hadn't even heard the stupid thing pull up. A quick scan around told him that he was well and truly on his own. The diner was out of sight and no shops were open at this hour. The homes here weren't even in use, some so far as to be boarded up. Why the hell had he chosen this street?

He took a step back, only to collide with a hard body and for a man's arm to snake around his waist.

"You sure are pretty, kid."

Kyle struggled, his elbow coming back to slam against the man's midriff with enough force to slacken his grip and allow Kyle to pull free. He didn't get far before loud laughter filled his ears and arms grabbed him again. He shrieked.

"Let me go, God, please, let me go!"

"Well," the man he had struck was a good foot over him and Kyle's eyes widened to take in his snow white skin and malicious brown eyes beneath cropped dark hair. "Since you asked so nicely..."

A stinging slap to his cheek had Kyle's head snapping to the right, his eyes bright with tears. He was going to die. God, how stupid was he? He had only moments to catch his breath before a fist collided brutally with his side, a sudden sharp snap setting his head alight with pain and drawing a pained whine from his throat.

The man chuckled, rolling up his sleeves to show more snowy skin and a tattoo blackened into his upper right forearm, a satantic 666 visible even in Kyle's blurry vision. "So responsive, pity you couldn't be more willin', kitten, you could have left an altogether different message. But, orders are orders and unfortunately, you were the only fool outside so you get to be the messenger."

Kyle glared up, struggling still in the arms of the other man behind him. "What fucking message?"

Loud laughter bounced against his skull, before the subtle click of an army knife sliding free had him drawing back, eyes wide with fear.

"Kid's got spirit, Kicker." A dark voice sounded behind him as that blade drew closer and closer, so swiftly that Kyle didn't feel the bite into his skin until a moment too late. He screamed as the knife dug into the soft skin of his stomach, his top lifted by one of the thugs behind him. It was taken away only to be brought down again, cruelly slicing until Kyle glanced down in terror to see a crimson red 666 etched on his skin, dribbling down to stain the edge of his pants. He was going to pass out.

The knife moved to his throat and he shut his eyes tight. He was going to die. Jesus, he was going to fucking haunt Stan and Kenny.

A piercing shot had arms falling away from him so suddenly he landed in a heap on the street floor, his no doubt cracked or broken rib sending waves of pain across his skull until his eyes rolled back and he could do little but gasp in tiny, agonized pants. Three more shots rang out. A gun, clear as day to his pain fogged mind and, for the moment, blessedly welcome.

There were shouts, angry shrieks and roars of pain before the scuffle of sneakers on pavement danced across his mind and a hand gripped his shoulder. He cried out against it, pushing back weakly. Something warm and metallic slid down to wet his lips and he gagged on the taste of blood and the sudden throb in his nose. He must have hit the ground harder than he had thought.

"Ah, shit, Kyle!"

"Don't touch him!"

"Fuck you, Ghost, look at him, he's in fucking pain! Look at him!"

Soft hands plucked at the black cotton of his shirt, the absence of his jacket a sudden worry on his baffled mind. There were hisses of disgusts as his stomach and the grizzly incision was put on show, the warm trails letting him know he was bleeding still.

"He's a fuckin' message. We gotta take him to Boss."


	2. Chapter Two

He breathed in deep through his nose, hazel eyes near gold under the blaring light of the security fixture he'd had fitted like a mast in the centre of the no-drive street. Not that it had always been a no drive street, the sleek cars owned by those who worked for him and with him smoothed over the glossy road. It was marked no drive purely because of the fear instilled in people about approaching this particular side of town.

The Boss' territory.

Cartman straightened from where he stood against the metal railing of the balcony off his bedroom. The house he owned was the largest in the area, and stood nestled between the smaller homes of his comrades. No one but the Knives stood foot in this territory, lest they wanted to lose their lives. The houses, looking so quaint and peaceful with their red brick face and the butter yellow glow that came from the ones occupied, were lived in only by his crew.

Some had been strays they had collected along the way. A pretty blonde down a dark alley that'd had one too many arguments with her boyfriend. A sleek redhead that had run from some larger city and battled for her life to stand her ground. A swift footed fool that had offered his servitude in thanks for one of the boys pulling him free of some twisted knife game. Anyone willing to die to prove their loyalty got a chance to play the game and a safe place to call home.

And then there were his originals. His brothers. 

Golden eyes flickered to the house flanking his right, its pale blue curtains drawn tight after its visitors had been sent back home safely. The brick was attached to his own home, a safe door hidden in a place only a handful of people knew should the occupant ever need Cartman's protection in a hurry. Not that Butters had been bullied in years. Either by his classmates or his vicious parents. That the kid continued to have them visit was testimony enough to his heart of gold and Cartman doubted he would ever forgive himself if he allowed something to befall his second in command's little princess.

The house to his left belonged to his thirds. Stan and Wendy, though rarely home, beyond the precious hours sleep demanded of them, had decorated the once family home into something of a vault. Hollowed walls and bunker shelves housed secret weapons with a panic room only he, Wendy and Stan would ever know the combination to. What Legs and Gunner had was not a troubled past seeking to reclaim them, but reputations that far outweighed the promise of an easy death should the worse scenario come to pass. Were any of the students at South Park High to discover that Stan Marsh was the infamous Gunner, the boy would have been ripped to shreds before he had worked up the nerve the ditch the prospect of minor wealth and fame that came with being star quarterback.

He could see the tell tale form of Tweek pressed against the darkened glass of the house directly before his own, his sleeping form twitching even as it curled in on itself on the cushioned window seat. Blondie fell asleep there some nights, waiting for Ghost to return and ease the tremors that spoke so loudly of an abused past.

Eric sighed, tapping the butt of his cigarette against a clean shaven cheek before tucking it behind his ear. Firm hands grasped the railing, narrow eyes surveying the area of those that put their trust in him. His brown hair hung thick and heavy to his collar, the sweeping bangs only adding to the sharpness of his cheekbones. He breathed in the crisp night air, chest expanding beneath the purple vest top before letting it out in one silent expel. Jeans snaked against long legs as he moved inside, throwing the door shut behind him. Just because he didn't patrol didn't mean he didn't know exactly what was happening on his turf.

Speaking of patrol, Eric frowned when the screech of car wheels met his ears, his steps halting for a second on the plush carpet, before carrying him down the staircase. The short handgun he was so rarely without was tucked beneath the belt of his jeans, his hand outstretching for a rifle he kicked from beneath its secured place under the front door side table. He opened the door in one smooth swing, face impassive as he took in the sight of both Gunner's Carrera and Ghost's beetle red mustang parked awkwardly in his driveway.

Gunner slammed his door shut with such force, Cartman quirked an eyebrow, his gun arm dropping when Killer met his eye and flipped him a signal. Not being chased then. So, why the big entrance?

Ghost was beside him in seconds, eyes settling on Blondie's form across the way before looking up at Boss. As used to growing up with him and working beside him all these years as Craig was, Boss still cut an impressive figure; enough to make a weaker man quake in his boots. Legs was suddenly behind him, pushing him towards Boss' house as the taller man backed up to allow them entrance. She ripped the black beanie from her head, jet black hair soaked slick with heat whipping about her as she prattled on about them first losing sight of the Cadillac, then spotting the second new car only to have that vanish from sights too. They had been about ready to call it quits when they heard the scuffle while making one last sweep.

"Scuffle?" Boss' voice was a tonic, low and deadly as he cast baffled eyes on Legs' trembling form, before looking to Ghost. "Explain."

"Kid got picked up to be messenger boy, Boss. Another fuckin' gang, just like you thought." Craig's voice was calm, but weighted in a way it often wasn't.

"Alive?" Boss caught sight of Gunner and Killer through the door, working between them to take something from the backseat.

"Just fucking about!" Legs spat, her pretty face pulled taut with venom, "if we hadn't gotten there, he was a fuckin' dead man, Boss, a dead man. Jesus!"

Cartman watched her, brow furrowed, it was not often that Wendy Testaburger let anything affect her, let alone a measly message. Something was up. Hazel eyes turned to stare down at Craig. "Fetch princess, will you? If he's not capable, I'll have the kid dropped off at the hospital, least I can do for the messenger boy. He's not one of our own is he?"

"Depends on how you look at it, Boss," was Ghost's cryptic reply before he was gone to wake their resident nurse.

Eric opened his mouth to question Legs only to have Gunner drive through the front door like Satan himself, his eyes ablaze and a small body clutched in a death grip to his front. "Can't believe we fuckin' forget! Fuck is wrong with us, Killer?" Killer's coat was draped over the thing, fitfully shaking beneath the mass of orange as Stan swept to the front foyer and laid him like a child on the blood red love seat.

He dragged the coat off, dropping to his knees with a low moan as Kyle clutched his stomach with hands slickened red, his breathing high and uneven as he stared up at Stan with terrified eyes.

"Jesus, Kyle, I'm sorry..."

Kyle's bright green eyes jerked behind him with a breathless whimper, his face already starting to discolour beneath his left eye.

"Lift the shirt up."

Gunner jumped at the sound of Cartman's voice from just behind him, level and calm as if completely unaffected. Stan did as was bid, pushing away Kyle's wet and weak hands to lift the soggy black material before shaking his head and ripping it away altogether. Butters would need to work there anyway if they had any hope of sorting the bleeding.

The crimson 666 glistened wetly against Kyle's white skin, dark and jagged. A bloom of violet to his left hand side let them know there was a broken rib, no doubt nicking at Kyle's side like some incessant knife point. He was blessed he hadn't punctured a lung on the drive over. Eric stared at the jagged message, face a mask of indifference as he moved his eyes up that slender body to the face of his old school friend.

Kyle Broflovski had indeed looked better.

"Eric? Is everything ok, I..."

Soft words trailed off as Butters made his way forward and got a good look at who exactly was lying on Boss' loveseat. His blue eyes found Kyle's and in a split second he had wheeled around, his palm lashing out to smack hard against the tan face of his lover. Kenny reeled at the contact, eyes bright and filled with fire.

"This is what you call keeping him safe?" The scream echoed in the big room even as Butters moved to shove Stan out of his way and bang his first aid kit on the wooden floors before Kyle's seat.

"Someone go get me alcohol or something to sterilize this, hot water's not enough. And I need towels, Legs, he's gonna bleed a lot more before I can stitch this up." The blonde withdrew a clean syringe from the kit, his bottom lip quivering before he tucked it between his teeth with a scowl and filled the syringe with the pain relieving morphine. Granted, it was straight morphine pilfered by Kenny from some upscale clinic, but it worked just as well as the legally obtained drug

Though Kyle watched him with panicked eyes, his chest heaving, he held still as Butters brought that needle to his vein and forced the drug inside.

"Go to sleep for a bit, Kyle. It'll be okay, I promise."

###

Eric watched the redhead's eyes flutter closed in something akin to a peaceful sleep, his small body slumping to fit ridiculously well on the two seated couch. Had Kyle always been that small? He stood like something made of stone behind the couch as Butters worked, his hands braced on the back of the chair and his eyes never leaving the little schoolboy who looked so much younger than the year he was younger than Eric.

It was Kenny who brought Butters the vodka, cheek smarting and head bowed as the blonde doused Kyle's wounds in the fiery liquid. Wendy packed the area around it with fluffy white towels, wincing as Kyle's flushed wounds dyed them a brilliant pink. Eric barely noticed.

He watched the needle thread through the gouges, ignoring the shallower piercings to quickly seal the deep tears. Cleaned and stitched shut, the gruesome sight of the number 666 carved into Kyle's stomach was one Eric doubted would ever leave the minds of those that had to witness it.

The room was silent as the blonde worked, not eve a breath to disturb him. With swift fingers, Butters pulled on the bandages, strapping a support taut around the broken rib to ensure it couldn't move and rip Kyle up inside. Gentle fingers swabbed at the dried blood beneath Kyle's nose, his hands trembling as he tore through his first aid kit to find what he needed. The blonde was quietly crying as he rubbed a light ointment over the darkening bruises of the redhead's cheek and jaw. A quick assessment deemed his nose unbroken and no other visible injuries and Butters fell back on his bottom, burying his soft sniffles in the palms of his hands.

Kenny was there in seconds, plucking the smaller boy from the floor and offering a parting grimace to both Eric and Stan before he left the room and the house. Craig hovered a moment, mouth open as though to speak before he thought better of it with a shake of his head and moved for the door, his footsteps loud and obvious.

"Go home, Gunner. I've got him."

Stan looked up at Eric with wide eyes, his face ashen, before scrubbing a hand over his face and nodding once. He gripped Wendy's back one-handed and steered the dark eyed beauty from the room. The door sealed shut behind them with a soft bang, leaving only a weighty silence behind.

Eric sighed, tongue running over his teeth before he growled and bent to lift the redhead in one swooping move, drawing a pained whimper from Kyle.

"Didn't I tell you you'd be safer with us, you stubborn fucker? Didn't I say I had it worked out?"

His only answer was a sleepy murmur, before Kyle lapsed so fully into silence Eric believed him unconscious. He remained limp as the taller man climbed the staircase, un-moving as Cartman kicked open the door to the bedroom beside his own, body folding like a tiny broken thing when Eric laid him against the crisp sheets and covered him with a quilt. The taller drew the curtains closed, mind buzzing behind slanted eyes.

Another gang.

Another gang who wanted to encroach on his territory, treat his authority as shit and cause a fucking riot in the streets. How the fuck had they snuck in without him noticing beyond the two strange cars this morning? His fist clenched, his jaw tightening as he turned minutely to glare at the figure in the bed. A message. A fucking message.

He swept from the silent room, locking the door behind him and pocketing the key.

He got their message. Loud and fucking clear.

###

Oh God he was on fire.

Kyle's eyes snapped open to a strange ceiling, his back lifting from the bed only for a blow of pain to send him sprawling back, his lips parting in a silent shriek.

Jesus Christ, what was that?

Panicked eyes looked down, tossing the unfamiliar sheets from his body to find himself devoid of a shirt and wrapped from his stomach to chest in white medical gauze. The splotches of red had him seizing in fear before memories knocked him flat on his back, the air leaving him in a pained puff.

Fuck, he was almost killed.

Kyle brought his hands up to block his face, wincing at the tender skin of his cheek before sniffling. He didn't even know who saved him. Sure, there had been bullets so it was safe to assume it was a couple of lackies of Cartman's, but why had they not dumped him at a hospital like they did for every miserable sod they couldn't be bothered offing?

He peeked from beneath his hands to the high ceiling that stretched above him, the soft blue of the walls and cotton white bedspread and carpet gave it an almost soft feel and he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. It was unfamiliar, a stranger's home, he could have been grabbed by his almost killers for all he knew. But it was empty and quiet and he needed that right now. His tears spilled over his cheeks, fingers moving to rub over the stiff medical bandages. He remembered nothing beyond the shrilling gun fire and a world of pain. Maybe being moved to a car? God, he didn't know. He needed to find his parents. For all they knew he was dead in some ditch somewhere, Ike would kill him for worrying them.

With a shaking breath, Kyle heaved himself on his elbows, teeth gritting against the nerve wracking pain in his gut. He forced himself upwards, body swaying as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the soft carpet. A wayward, panicked laugh bubbled in his throat. He had slept with his shoes on. He stood too quickly, only for a sharp 'uh oh' to sound through the sudden rush in his head and his legs to crumple beneath him. He fell like a raggedy Andy to the floor. The soft thump and gentle wail he let out were answered by the sound of footsteps moving downstairs.

Shit.

Kyle forced himself halfway up on his arms, breath panting as he listened to the soft footfall on a carpeted stairs, growing steadily closer and causing his heart to flutter like a trapped bird in his chest. The sound of a key turning in a lock met his ears and he turned to come face to face with the last person on earth he wanted to see.

Eric Cartman may have lost the fat and whiny pout he had had as a child, but the smirk he aimed at Kyle held far too many promises of past memories for the redhead to do anything but glare. Golden eyes watched him, like a lion waiting for its meal to settle down and realize they were done, as his tall form lounged against the door-frame.

"Mornin' Jew."


	3. Chapter Three

Stan snorted, burying his face in the crease of his leather jacket where his arm was leaned against the open car window.

"Fuck you, Gunner."

The dark haired youth rested both elbows against the open frame, body bent at a right angle to grin at the shape of Kenny sprawled across the laid back front seat of his '98 Viper. The car was a beauty, but why the blonde choked at the mention of trading it in for a newer model, Stan would never know. Faster, faster, faster was his mantra.

"Princess make you sleep in the car again, Killer? Fuck, you're in trouble."

Kenny's palm darted out to push him from view by the face, eyes narrowed as he yanked the seat back before swinging open the car door with enough force to drive Stan back a foot. "Time is it?" The blonde groaned, twisting his spine to look upwards at the pre-dawn sky, his hands lifting to tug the collar of his black coat higher.

"Few ticks before shift starts, but I wanna run a border check along the east side where we saw that new car last. Legs is already running south with Ghost and Red. Boss said he'd have a few recruits sent out on the streets come nine to keep an eye."

Kenny took his hands from his pockets as Stan spoke, face lighting in an orange glow as he sparked to light the cigarette now dangling from his lips. Shifts were a pain in the balls, but with twenty strong in the Knives and curiosity rising from the High school, there was never a lack of eyes or hands to get the job done and patrol the streets morning to morning. Border checks were run every other month, few and far between, to guarantee no suspicious blood wandered in. If he remembered rightly, there wasn't one due for another two weeks, but then again, circumstances had changed.

He blew the toxic cloud from his nose, eyes scanning the front face of Boss' house where he leaned against the car. Boss himself was up, as he was every morning before them all. He stood against the railing of the second floor balcony, the white vest neck t shirt he wore and a pair of baggy grey sweat pants his only heat against the chill. He watched the street with critical eyes, no other interest on his face besides the slant to his brow. Kyle hadn't really known how Boss would react to Kyle Broflovski of all people being dumped on his couch and bearing the cryptic foul from another street gang. As he had seen it, it could have gone one of two ways. Boss could have spit venom about the Jew's weak back bone and lack of loyalty to his childhood friends before dumping him outside South Park General Hospital. That, or Eric could have seen only the message and put a bullet between Kyle's eyes and left him in the street to send a message of his own right back.

That the redhead remained inside Boss' fortress was a curious thing. Perhaps Boss wasn't so keen as to discard the only kid in South Park who had had the guts to turn his back on him and walk away. Or maybe he just wanted to torture the Jew for old times' sake. Kenny didn't have a voice either way. Kyle hadn't been killed on spot, so chances were he wouldn't be killed at all, unless he was particularly fucking stupid. That guarantee alone was enough to stop the chill that had crept down his spine when he had seen his old friend jerking and gasping on the footpath.

"You listenin', Killer?"

"Nah," Kenny grinned, flicking the butt of his cigarette away. He wrapped an arm around Stan's shoulders, tossing him towards the passenger side of the Viper. "Just thinkin' is all."

"That's fuckin' dangerous."

Kenny snickered as he slipped into the front seat, pausing for only a second to blow a kiss to the tiny flicker of movement behind his bedroom window when the car roared to life beneath him. He wouldn't mind Butters punishing him if he didn't know that the little blonde stayed up all night sick with worry over whether he had been too harsh. He never blamed Butters for the shit he put him through, took the shouting and being tossed outside like a man because he knew he deserved it every single time it happened. If he could build that kid a palace and take every worry away, he would in a heartbeat. His princess deserved so much better.

Kenny sighed, twisting the dial on the stereo until music blared into the sleepy street. Stan's laugh filtered over the sound as they swung into reverse before tearing off down the sleek road, the shrilling ping of a bullet grazing the paint job of a back bender the only sign that someone hadn't appreciated their wake up call.

###

Cartman grinned from his perch outside the balcony of his room, arms resting lazily on the cold iron in the cool light of dawn as he watched the car take off in a heart pounding eruption of whatever dance shit Kenny liked to keep on his stereo.

The sound of the bullet had him throwing his head back in laughter, his eyes snapping to the vibrating form of Henrietta outside her front door. She glowered at the car's retreat, round face furious, before throwing her gun back into the house and following it with thunderous steps for one so petite. The slam of the door was followed only by the sound of Boss' dark laughter. God, the little goth girl was not a morning person.

Eric lit up a cigarette as he moved back into his house, cupping the warmth before blowing a cloud of smoke into the hallway. His steps carried him quickly to the kitchen, lips clamping on the cigarette deftly as he filled the coffee maker and flipped the switch. The smell soon filled his senses and he breathed deep with each inhalation, smoke clouding the smallest room of the house. Long fingers wrapped around a steaming cup, the taste thick and velvet against his tongue as he swamped the boiling liquid, his smoke held aloft in two fingers. He wanted that new gang fucking pulverised. Eradicated into the fucking ground or hung from the street lights as a reminder, he didn't care.

They were fucking fools to think they could home in on what was his. Wherever the hell they had come from or had in mind, he didn't want to hear it. The image of that carefully carved 666 flittered across his mind like a brand and he dragged a vicious pull from the stick, tongue running over his teeth. What the fuck did they think they were, devil worshippers? Oh, if they wanted to hail Satan, he'd give them hell. He'd give them fucking hell.

A thump from upstairs had his head snapping up before a soft groan of pain filtered through the layers of wood and material. Eric rolled his eyes, stubbing his cigarette out in the sink before moving. Looks like sleeping beauty was up.

He walked in on Kyle slumped on the ground, arms shaking like twigs about to snap and chest jerking. Eric grinned, for one vicious minute satisfied to see the hot headed Jew so obviously in need of a hand, before green eyes darted up to glare at him; a look he had not seen in years.

"Mornin' Jew."

"Fuck you."

Eric's breath left him as a hiss between clenched teeth, his body stalking forward to grab the little one from the soft floor and all but slam him back on the bed. Kyle shrieked in pain, his arms wrapping around his midsection in agony.

"I know you're not accustomed to what goes down around here, Kyle, so I'll give you another chance." Eric glared down at the trembling figure, pulling the gun from the waistband of his pants and planting the muzzle against Kyle's forehead. The cool metal had the redhead freezing, his eyes blowing wide in shock as he stared up at Eric, the boy he had gotten into so many scraps with as children.

Fuck, but that didn't look like Eric. 

The man stood over him now was taller and sleeker then the boy he had last seen three years ago when Kyle had turned his back on him. If Kyle had any doubts that Eric's brutal reputation and fear-instilling powers were made up, those doubts were blown to pieces in one move. Golden eyes narrowed and came closer as that gun was held steady against his head. One shot and he'd be dead.

"I said, morning Jew."

Eric's voice was cold, deathly so as he blew the scent of smoke and fresh coffee against Kyle's pale face. The redhead's mouth pulled in a grimace, his eyes flicking with fire as he hissed back.

"Morning."

The gun was removed, Eric's smile one that was almost proud and had Kyle's eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Atta boy," The taller man chuckled, tucking the gun away before casting an assessing glance at the blotches of red against the boy's wrappings. "I know you ain't been around for a bit, Kyle, but I do have a reputation to live up to and no one speaks to me like that. You bear that in mind and we'll have no troubles, right? Right. Now that's settled, let's get you downstairs so Princess can get a good look at you."

Kyle was lifted from the bed, his arms clutching at the fabric of Cartman's shirt on instinct as his body left solid grounding. "Wha- let me down!"

Cartman ignored him, one arm a solid latch under Kyle's body as he pulled a phone from his pocket with the other, flicking through it with a bored sigh. He ignored Kyle's panicked demands as he moved from the room, the phone against his ear. Each jolt of the steps forced the redhead quieter in his grip, his face paling in a pained grimace to the point where Cartman rolled his eyes and hoisted him higher. A soft voice sounded in his ear.

"Hey, Princess, your patient's up."

He grunted at Butters' response before ending the call and stopping in the middle of a living room big enough to house a quarter of Kyle's home. He dropped the redhead easy this time, eyes narrowing as those pale hands gripped his shirt harder before letting go to wrap around his stomach, his body bending over to dry heave wetly.

"Do not sick up on my rug, Kyle."

The redhead ignored him, his body twisting before the tremors died down enough for him to fall back against the pale cushions, sweat dotting his brow. He blinked up blearily when the sound of a door clicking open and shut met his ears, to find Butters' worried face staring down at him.

"Hiya Kyle."

Kyle offered him a small smile, grin twisting in baffled amusement. "You're Princess?"

Butters flushed, eyes sliding to deliver a dry glare to Cartman's frozen form behind the couch before sitting himself next to Kyle and propping the heavy first aid box on his lap. "Nicknames are kinda a necessity 'round here, Kyle. I may not be part of the gang but it's safer than callin' me by what everyone else knows me."

"Ya, ya," Kyle grunted as Butters grip on his shoulder forced him to recline, the other teen's hands making quick work of the soiled bandaging. "Everyone knows the nicknames and the crimes behind 'em, we just don't know who's who. It's weird you havin' one Butters, makes it kinda real that you're in on this shit."

Butters smiled, tossing aside the dirty wrappings and fishing for new ones as well as a pain relief gel. "Everyone knows who I'm livin' with, Kyle. Besides, I ain't no thug. I tend to the people hurtin' and I stay outta the main business. The nickname just kinda stuck, same with Blondie."

"Blondie?" Kyle tried to look down at the sharp sting as Butters coated his stomach in cold gel, only for a hand to push him back down. He glared at Cartman, frown becoming puzzled when the man shook his head minutely and pressed a little harder to keep him from looking down. What was wrong with his stomach? He barely remembered the sudden swoop of the knife, the mass of blood...

"Tweek." Butters distracted him, covering the wounds with a soft patch before starting to wrap Kyle's midsection once again, the gentle tug forcing the breath from Kyle's lungs.

"Tweek? Oh... ya. He's with Craig, isn't he? I haven't seen him in months."

Butters hummed, clasping the material shut before grabbing Kyle's face to slather something cold and sweet smelling against his battered cheek. "He just needed some time off, he'll come back to school when he's ready. There you go, Kyle, you think you can hold down a painkiller or two? I'd give you more morphine but that stuff's limited and it's best kept for when it's really needed."

"When did you give me morphine?" Kyle blinked as he was pushed upwards again with a strong hand on his back, his mind flickering to the blur of memories that were the night before. He glanced down at his bandaged torso, eyes dimming as if the reality of what had occurred had finally settled over him. "Fuck, what happened to me?"

"You were grabbed. Wrong place at the wrong time, was nothin' personal."

Cartman's deep voice had him swiveling to see him, eyes wild. "Nothin' personal? Well, fuck, why didn't I just let the fucker stick his hand in my guts, maybe that woulda been a bit more personal."

Eric's eyes darkened as Butters turned Kyle back around to lie in the cushions, his hands lifting Kyle's legs to lie across the couch as he stood. "Boss means it weren't nothin' against you, Kyle. It was a stupid message to get his attention and let him know some thick heads are tryin' to be all hard. Right, Boss?"

Eric nodded once, his heated glare never leaving Kyle's as he moved to flip a switch on the flat screen television hung above the mantled fireplace. A remote was tossed in Kyle's lap, jolting the redhead from his thoughts.

"You better get comfortable, kid. You're not goin' nowhere 'till you can walk on your own."

Kyle gaped up at his old friend, eyes wide. "You can't keep me here! Butters, he can't keep me here! What about school, fuck, my parents!"

"I'm sorry, Kyle, but you're in no state to go to school, as for your parents, d'you really think somebody's not already been sent off with a note to tell them you're still alive? Give it a few days, buddy, you're safe here. Maybe all this will have calmed down by then. You may not have been specifically targeted but you're safer here than if those thugs spot you and decide to finish the job."

He smiled sadly at the redhead, bending to give him a swift hug before tugging his kit under one arm. "I'll be back around lunch time to check up on you and I'm only next door if you need me. Try and get some sleep, Kyle."

Kyle watched through disbelieving eyes as Butters walked from the room, stopping only to hand Eric a bottle of what he supposed was medicine, before heading for where the front door must be. The gentle click sounded far louder than it should have in the room filled with the soft background noise of a TV switched on to whatever channel. Green eyes flickered nervously to the silent man stood by the fireplace, Cartman's head cocking to one side as he watched for Kyle's reaction. The smaller boy sneered even though his eyes showed how frightened he was. Kyle had wanted nothing to do with this from the very start and here he was, flung into the middle of it. Eric almost felt sorry for the little student.

"Why do you wanna help me anyway? It's not like you owe me anything, I walked away from ye." Kyle's voice was petulant, like a bold child that had been denied dessert and it made Eric's mouth curl in the smallest of smiles.

"Call it for old times' sake." Eric sighed, running a hand through his soft brown hair. "Gunner and Killer'd wear my ear off if I let you back on the streets and you got yourself killed. I doubt Legs'd be pleased either and I don't go about displeasin' my family for the sake of it." His eyes darkened as he turned to leave the room, pinning Kyle where he sat. "Make no mistake of it, though, Kyle. I will shoot you if you test me."

And with that parting, he left, the house piercingly silent and horrifically big with the slamming of the front door. Kyle's chest heaved, his eyes blinking as fear danced like ants across his skin. He dropped his face into his hands, breath coming in short little pants as the full force of where he now sat fell down on him. His anxiety swooped like a terrifying shadow against his mind, his clenched fists trembling with a sudden, inexplicable surge of panic. Maybe he'd have been better off dead.

###

The man clicked his teeth together sharply, eyes wide and bright as he watched the denim clad behind bounce its way up the stone steps to South Park High. Pip turned before he reached the doors, face breaking in a breathtaking smile as he waved back at the car before disappearing into the milling paths of students. Damien waited until the starting bell had struck, velvet black hair wayward and tousled over eyes that gleamed an almost red. Lean, pale skinned arms stretched from where they had been bracing on the wheel, before taking hold and tearing away from the school.

Education was key, as Pip always said. Damien's lips pulled in a wicked smile, his thoughts dancing to the happy smile he had seen stretch Pip's pink lips when he had told him he'd been enrolled for a final semester in South Park High. The first smile since he had had to pull the kid from his last school a few weeks back. Pip knew the game. He knew when shit happened and the Hell Raisers had to split towns, cities. He had been to six schools in the last four years and it was wearing him thin.

But this had been no ordinary get up and go. No fleecing out from shady police crew or driven out by boredom. No, this had been an invitation. A beautiful invitation wrapped up in secrets and mystery and the most delicious of rumors. Word of the Knives had reached them from miles across country, aghast whispers of the crime that had overrun the dreary city of South Park and the gang that terrorised the streets and stamped their mark across the city face in big bold letters. They'd grown in their few years, names beginning to stand out, become the thing of nightmares. Without even knowing it, they were expanding, their reach of influence so strong it was rattling people across miles of road and nothing. And the police, the fine upstanding police, had kept their noses out of it. Were they twisted? Too carefully linked with the South Park gang members to want to put them down? Cowardly and too afraid to lose what little pretend peace the gang's possessive streak offered them? It was a mystery, an intrigue. It had brought his men smiling like hell hounds at the prospect of finding out, of worming their way into such prettily braided corruption.

The planning had been done in nights, swiftly. Cars unmarked and un-glamorous passing in and out like routine truck stops, dropping groups of three or four to scout, to listen, to settle. Before the Knives had even cottoned on to someone fresh being in their area, they had built a grounding on the city edge bordering the High school and a pretty little park. The houses there were few and far, but big enough to hold a gang as tightly wound as the Hell Raisers. The occupants had been old, easily taken care of, or away; holiday homes for the high and mighty. That they had become Hell Raiser property made it all the sweeter.

Damien grinned, swinging the car into the parking lot that centred his domain. How could he have possibly refused such an invitation? He pulled himself from the seat as he snapped open the door, dark hair falling to his leather collar and boots clicking against the concrete. Now all he had to do was make sure the RSVP he'd sent the boys out to deliver last night had been received.


	4. Chapter Four

"Kid looks rough."

Wendy rolled her eyes at Craig, one long leg folding over the other as she sat herself by Kyle's feet and tucked in the blanket that had been draped around him.

"He's hardly a kid, Ghost. Kyle's only a year younger than most of us and the same age as Blondie." Wendy's brown eyes roamed over the form of the sleeping redhead, taking in the ruffled red hair that fell in messy waves to below his ears and the soft smile that lifted his lips when she patted his chest gently.

"He looks like a kid. Fuck, he hasn't changed since he was fifteen, still looks the same. Think the shrimp might have even shrunk a few inches."

Wendy fixed him with a withering glare that garnered no response beyond Craig's usual look of vaguely unimpressed boredom. She looked down at the boy beside her with a frown. The dark haired boy was right though, Kyle hadn't changed since she had last seen him and that had been a year ago after a brief and coincidental walk into the same diner. Needless to say she hadn't seen him there since. Kyle made a point of avoiding them all aside from Stan and Kenny and even those meet ups were few and far between. And look where that had gotten him? Had she been any tougher around the edges she would have knocked him on the head for his stupidity that night.

What was he thinking walking alone that late at night? Sure, he had been waiting for Stan and Kenny, but he couldn't have walked out with someone else, anyone else? At least with others, there was a better playing field if you were cornered, but Kyle had been alone. He had more sense than that. He was always the brightest in class, the one that was going to get out of South Park and make something of himself.

She huffed, hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose in a habit she'd picked up from Stan. "Anyone hear from Boss?"

"Said he'd be here in a bit with Gunner and Killer. He's got eyes on the streets but the Cadillac is still sittin' outside the second motel it was moved to yesterday. It's a dud, whoever owned it is probably in somethin' less conspicuous."

Red's voice had her glancing up to see the woman watching the muted TV screen, blue eyes flicking happily over whatever bouncing rom-com Kyle had been watching before he passed out. Her lip twitched. She hadn't pegged Kyle as the sort. "What was he watchin'?"

Red grinned, bringing out the dimple in her right cheek and flicking her scarlet dyed bangs from her face. "Dunno, somethin' 'bout Bridesmaids. That's kinda cute."

Wendy grinned, catching Red sink into an armchair and swing her booted feet over the arm rest out of the corner of her eye. Red was a new recruit, only a year old though she did her job well and had had their backs on more than one occasion. She wasn't a bad right hook either as Wendy had learned training the girl in. She had run away from an abusive father and a dead beat mother, had come all but striding into their street and demanding to see the Boss and pledge herself. It would have been a waste indeed if she hadn't been redeemed by Boss' curiosity and Killer had been called off. He was Boss' second for a reason and that was, if you could get past him, then you deserved to have a go at Boss. Nobody got past Killer.

The front door clicked, tensing the three of them for a split second before Killer's throaty chuckle had them at ease. The blonde sauntered into the front room, a sour looking Butters under one arm who wriggled free to check on Kyle. Killer heaved himself back into the chair longside Red with a groan, he was stiff from sitting in that fucking car.

"How is he?" Gunner and Boss arrived behind the pair, Stan leaning down to offer Wendy a soft kiss before hooded eyes took in Kyle's swaddled form with a grin. Kid looked like a baby napping. He sat on the sleek wooden coffee table, hands cupping around a cigarette he'd swiped from Kenny's pocket.

"Better, not scared out of his mind at least," Butters grumped, lifting the blanket to check Kyle's wrappings for sign of bleeds. There were none and he grunted, satisfied. He sent Craig off for a cup of water and pulled a silver foil from his pocket before tapping Kyle's cheek gently.

"Come on, Kyle, take a painkiller for me and you can go back to sleep. You're a tad too warm for comfort."

###

Kyle groaned, swatting at the hand with a growl and ignoring the huffing laughter that met his ears from several different directions. He was comfortable, worming his way further into the soft cushions and heavy blanket. A dark voice had him snapping his eyes open and his body struggling to sit upright.

"Wake up, Jew."

He pushed against the gentle hands on his shoulders, whining when pain ripped across his stomach and sent him back on his back with flushed cheeks. Butters' face glowered down at him, his hands poking about the redhead's wrapped torso. "Serves you right, jumpin' up like that, Kyle, you coulda ripped the stitchin'!"

Kyle sniffled, sucking his lower lip between his teeth as Butters pushed against his aching side with assessing fingers. His head turned in the cushions and his mouth popped open at the sight of Stan on the coffee table, elbows braced on his knees and a cigarette pursed between his lips.

"Get that shit outta your mouth, you moron!"

Stan spit the smoke out before he had even considered it, his blue eyes popping wide as he stamped it out on the metal ashtray beside him. Roaring laughter met Kyle's ears and Butters hoisted him up enough to see that he was most definitely not alone. He flushed crimson, glaring at Kenny's laughing figure before his eyes darted from Craig to Wendy to the strange red headed woman and finally to Cartman.

"How ya feelin', Kyle?" Wendy smiled at him, one hand reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind his ear in a motherly gesture. He shrugged at her, taking the glass of water Craig pushed into his hands. Jesus, how long had they been standing there? Had they been watching him sleep? That was so fucking creepy.

"Here you go, Kyle, that should help some with the pain," Butters murmured, popping a white tablet into the water and swishing the glass gently by the rim as it dissolved and fizzed. Kyle could do little else but drink the clouded mixture, if only to find something to do. He grimaced at the foul taste, pushing the thing away before Butters pushed his hands back stubbornly.

"You are drinking that medicine, Kyle Broflovski, or I'm sticking a suppository where the sun don't shine!"

Kyle groaned, ignoring Kenny's raw laughter as the blonde doubled over in glee. He swamped the drink, tongue sticking out in distaste and earning himself a giggle from Wendy and a snort of amusement form Craig. Fuck, how could they all be so... Normal. It was like they were eight years old again and Kyle had been dared to eat something disgusting, laughter and teasing making the once lonely room somewhat brighter.

He stared at the familiar strangers, rougher and more hardened than he had last seen most of them, yes, but God, their faces made his heart ache. Wendy still had that flashy smile, her long legs tucked beneath her backside and her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Craig was still as stoic and bored looking as he had always looked, save for the thin scar that crossed his cheek and darkened the grey-eyed boy's classically handsome features. Stan was smiling at him, eyes more filled with secrets than the last time he had seen the boy, his stance confidant and deadly in a way he would have never put on Stan. Kenny was laughing still, throaty chuckles warmed from years of smoking and orange hoody pulled over his messy blonde hair.

Even the stranger grinned down at him, smile soft and even and stance at ease beside Cartman's lanky form where the 'Boss' lounged against the fireplace. How was he even supposed to react? How was he supposed to talk to the biggest gangsters in South Park? These were people who had killed, murdered for the sake of some perverse justice and took in money like drug dealers. Hell, some of them could be fucking drug dealers. And yet, he looked at them and saw only the faces of his friends, his classmates and that was so fucking surreal because how could they be one and the same?

Kyle felt tears flood his eyes, his heart panicking against his chest and his breath coming in short inhalations, louder and louder until he was gasping, clutching at where he thought his heart would beat from his chest and blinking at the wet slide of tears against his cheeks.

"Shit."

"Here, Kyle, look at me, it's just a little anxiety! Deep breaths, in and out, come on, buddy!"

Butters had a hand on his back, rubbing gently despite the nervous cast to his eyes. Kyle watched him breathe, tried to mimic it and failed miserably, blood rushing in his ears form lack of oxygen. Come on, Kyle get a grip, breathe.

His eyes rolled back, vision blacking and lungs tugging painfully for air that he just couldn't seem to get down. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? Why couldn't he...

A mouth covered his own, shock enough to freeze his jerking body in its senses, before cool air with the subtle taste of smoke and mint was blown down his throat and into his lungs, expanding them painfully and causing his chest to jerk. The air was blown again, and again, until Kyle pulled away and hung his head to drag in stinging breaths of oxygen, his hands fisting in the shirt of whoever the fuck had just practically kissed him.

"Those panic attacks are gonna kill you."

Kyle looked up, his expression comical when Eric looked down to meet his gaze. He quirked a dark brow at the hands in his shirt, pulling them free gently even as Kyle pulled them back as though burned. He continued to stare, his whole face flushing pink and his chest heaving still with his irregular breathing as Eric folded himself into one of the wooden backed chairs in front of him and brought an unlit cigarette to his lips.

"You're welcome."

"I didn't say thank you." Kyle wheezed, wincing when Butters' fingers gripped his shoulders hard.

Cartman only chuckled as he lit the stick in his mouth, breathing deep and blowing a river of dark smoke into the room. "You didn't have to."

###

"When're you coming back to school?"

Tweek twisted the cup in his hands methodically, round face smiling as he looked between his blonde bangs at Kyle.

"Eh, I'll go back before Spring exams start up. Needed kinda a breather..."

He shoulder twitched perceptively, hands firming on the cup of sweet tea as it settled back down. His green shirt was open, the white vest beneath bearing a small stain of the hot water he'd spilled minutes before.

"You'd best tail it back before Ms. Sundow lays it on thick then. No mercy for the graduating class of South Park, right Kyle?"

Kyle nodded at Butters where the blonde was seated on the couch by his feet, before looking back at Tweek in his chair and smiling brightly. "She says she's gonna give hints in class about what she'll put on the tests but we'll only recognise them if we're on the ball."

Tweek grimaced, planting a trembling cup on the table before dragging a small hand through his messy hair. "I better head back with you in the mornin' so, Butters. I couldn't deal with the pressure of knowin' I'd missed out on all the good hints."

"Which reminds me, Butters, you didn't pick up my homework on the off chance, did you?"

Butters stuck his tongue out, sipping at the glass of lemonade Kenny had handed him before he, Stan and the others had vanished further into the house. Kyle didn't know where they and Cartman had gone to or what they were up to, and frankly, he didn't care. That almost-kiss from earlier was playing too frequently in his head for him to remain sane should he let himself actually think on it.

"No homework, Kyle. It won't kill you to go the rest of the week without doin' a bit of work. The only thing your brain needs to focus on is gettin' you healed so we can take you home to your mom and pop."

Kyle dug his fingers into the blanket that'd been draped over him when he woke, the painkillers dulling the ache in his stomach for a while. "And my parents definitely know I'm still alive? Ike's not out roaming the streets looking for me?"

Butters snorted, nose wrinkling. "No, Ike only leaves the house for school and meeting with his friends, and Kenny's makin' sure he gets home safe tonight. And your parents definitely know, Kyle. Stan himself went by to tell them, though he said they weren't keen on opening the door at first so he had to yell through the letterbox 'till they did."

Kyle remained quiet, brow furrowed. There'd been a time when Sheila Broflovski would throw her door open and welcomed Stan with a hug. He shook the morbid thought from his head, sighing as he sunk into the cushions. He listened with fading interest to Butters and Tweek talk about school, their conversations never straying to the Knives. Lulled by the voices of his school friends, Kyle felt his lids grow heavy, his breathing evenly out until a light snore drew him from sleep with a start.

The room was dark, darker than it had been what felt like only seconds ago, like the curtains had been drawn. Kyle frowned at the evening sky outside the window panes behind the couch he had been sleeping on. How long had he been asleep? His stomach growled absently, drawing a grimace from his lips. He was starving.

"Want somethin' to eat?"

Kyle shrieked, hands drawing the blanket up around his chest as a dark chuckle drew his eyes to the armchair pulled to the far corner of the living room. Cartman sat there, legs splayed and feet planted firmly on the wood floor. He lounged as he dragged the tiny bud of light off the cigarette from his mouth, a trail of smoke following its lead. His hair was damp, recently washed and falling over half of one golden eye like he was some dark villain.

"What're you watchin' me sleep for? Do you have any idea how fuckin' creepy that is!"

The bite was lost in Kyle's freaked words, his green eyes blown wide in the eerily lit room and his hand stilling over his heart. Eric only chuckled in response, rising and leaving the room only to return seconds later with a sandwich that had clearly been prepared hours before. He slid the plate across the wooden table top to Kyle's side of the couch before folding his arms, smoke licking against the corner of his mouth like dragon's breath.

Kyle glared at him, poking at the white bread and lifting a slice to glare at the cooked stuffing and chicken filling. "It's not poisoned, is it?"

Eric's head bowed back in a booming laugh, his hand slapping his thigh before he bared his teeth at Kyle in a sadistic smile. "Oh Kyle. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

Well, he didn't doubt that. The redhead eyed Cartman warily, the echo of that laughter in his head sending tremors down his spine. He had never heard a laugh like that come from Cartman's mouth. His lips twisted before tugging the plate onto his lap and ripping the crusts from the sandwich. He pulled bits from it with his fingers before popping them in his mouth, glaring at the food in an attempt to ignore the eyes that drilled a hole in him from across the table.

The plate was removed with the last bite, Kyle jumping at how close Cartman had managed to get without him realising.

"Come on, twitchy, fuck and I thought Blondie was bad."

"Come on where?" Kyle glared upwards, rearing back at how close that face was to his own.

Eric grinned, grabbing both Kyle and the blanket in his arms before hoisting him up. "I don't like people in my house sleepin' where they can roam around. Not that you're much of a threat right now but it's the principal of the thing."

Kyle sat frozen, lips clamped tight in displeasure as he suffered through having Eric cart him up a flight of stairs, those arms like vice grips with no hope of them letting go until Eric was well and truly ready. How the fuck did the fatass get that fucking strong without turning into a ball of muscle?

He was dumped on the bed, hissing in pain as Eric moved to slant a glare from the bedroom window and slide the curtains closed. The taller man glanced at Kyle, eyes narrowing, before striding form the room, the sound of a key turning in the lock of the door his final say.


	5. Chapter Five

Butters sighed, glancing at the untouched locker beside his own with a twist to his pink lips. He had seen Kyle only the day before and again this morning to change his bandaging while the boy was still half asleep. Still, Kyle's absence from school made the incident all the more real. Kyle never missed a day of school, to the point where Butters had believed the little redhead either immune to the common cold or just plain bull headed. That he had now missed three days in a row was bugging Butters to no end.

"Weird, isn't it?"

Butters glanced around to find Tweek staring at him, the blonde's hair pulled back in a haphazard bun and his long arms clad in expensive blue silk. His green eyes were soft, smile ticking at the corner of his mouth as if not quite sure whether or not to surface. Butters shrugged, slinging his bag over one shoulder and nudging the blonde towards Calculus with the other.

"I'll say. I reckon Kyle's missed one day of school in the last five years and that was 'cause he'd been carted off to the hospital with pneumonia. Geez, I thought he was dead or somethin' when I realised he hadn't arrived before the tardy bell. Just makes you realise how hurt he really is."

Tweek hummed in response, jerking when someone rubbed against him in the crowded doorway before scattering to his seat in the front row. He watched Butters drop into the chair beside him as he organised his desk, plucking sterilised pens and crisp white refill pads from his backpack. He glanced around nervously, eyes darkening as they swept over the chattering cliques and few empty seats. "Ghost says there's no trace of them who did it, neither. Says he remembers two of 'em, clear as day, and he hasn't seen sight of 'em. It's like someone's playin' with the fellas."

Butters leaned back against the hard backed seat, eyes on the blank white board. "Gettin' involved with the Knives ain't a smart move unless you're dyin', lookin' to die or lookin' for a pretty nasty game. That's what Killer always says and I have to agree with them. You don't pull crap like this in South Park and get away with it, not anymore." He narrowed his gaze on the teacher hurrying to the top of the room, biting his bottom lip as chatter turned to hushed whispers and the beginning of another lecture. "This is no game I'd play with Eric, that's for damn sure."

###

"How do you suppose they did it?"

Tweek paused, hands hovering over the lid of a lunchbox he had been scrubbing with a disinfectant wipe; the same lunchbox that the boy carried to school every day. They were seated beneath one of the trees that littered the back grounds of the school, Tweek perched on the stiff wooden bench and Butters hunched in thought where he sat cross-legged on the table top. It was a rare occasion that the pair had company aside from Kyle, the stigma of being somehow attached to two widely, if not well, known members of the Knives. Not that these people knew exactly how Stan and Craig were attached to the gang or what they'd done in the name of it. Tweek doubted whether they would have anyone to even salute in the hallways if people knew all the dirty secrets.

"Did what?"

The meticulous blonde continued his wiping, hair loose and about his shoulders in varying lengths like some untameable lion mane. Butters glanced down at him, forgetting for a moment the apple clutched between his fingers.

"How do you suppose they got in without anyone noticing?"

Tweek shrugged, snapping open the lunchbox to peer casually at the perfectly cut ham sandwich and fruit within. "Ghost reckons they musta been comin' in for weeks in the lorries and trucks they wave off as rest stops. Not to mention the traffic that went through with the hoity-toitys going home from their 'winter vacation homes'. They coulda come in anytime really, here and there. What worries me is why they've announced it now, the same week that Cadillac was spotted. It's like they were waiting for it."

Butters looked upwards through the thin foliage of the tree, dropping his apple to the table and pushing his hands into his coat. When he glanced back down it was to watch, wide-eyed, as another blonde ran up to them, his grey coat tailored and soft-looking and his blonde hair bright beneath the black peak cap he wore.

"Hello there, would you mind terribly if I sat with you? I wanted a bit of fresh air and I'm afraid the other benches are full to bursting."

Butters smiled at Pip's twang, poking Tweek in the arm until the twitchy blonde slid down the bench to offer the newcomer a seat. The Brit nodded his thanks before plonking himself down, his white teeth flashing still in a bright smile. He glanced at Tweek's shivering form and frowned.

"Are you quite alright? You aren't cold, are you?"

Butters took pity on his stammering friend, dropping his legs between Pip and Tweek's bodies to place his boots against the bench. "He's good, Pip. Just not great with strangers, is all. How are you finding South Park?"

Pip smiled up at Butters, sweet face wide open. "Ah, I thought I recognised you. You're the chap that showed me to Chemistry, Butters, right? South Park is most beautiful, not that I've seen a great deal of it but I do like the school, it's quite good. Where's your red haired friend? Kyle?"

"Sick," Butters replied, brow marring as something obvious clicked in his head and made him feel a complete fool. "How long have you been in town, then, Pip? Not long if you haven't seen around."

Pip hesitated for the briefest of moments, smile a tad too pushed before the doubt left his eyes and he laughed. "I've been here quite a number of weeks, actually, since before Christmas even. It's no one's fault but my own that I've not seen more of this place, I am quite the recluse. Father thought it would be best if I had time to adjust to a new home and enjoy the holidays before allowing me to school."

Butters heard the lie the second it left that pretty, smiling mouth, his blue eyes amused and his mouth quirking in a friendly grin all the same. "Gosh, that was awful nice of him. Where about's are you and your family livin'?"

"It's just me and Father I'm afraid. I am an only child and Mother was quite sick when I was very young. He is a lovely man, is my father, quite protective of me. We're in that pretty little estate on the southern side of the supermarket just along the town border. Well, I do think I'm refreshed enough. It was lovely seeing you again, Butters, I do hope we can meet again for a chat?"

Pip stood, hand stretched out to the other blonde and, for a second, Butters felt a weary guilt for having put a fellow outcast ill at ease. He smiled softly, clasping Pip's hand in his own and met the Brit's eyes. "I'd love that, Pip. We can see how you're gettin' on with school and if you need a hand with anythin', don't hesitate to yell. I know it ain't easy learnin' the ropes."

Pip nodded once and was off, pale hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

"Butters."

"Ya, Tweek?"

"No one's moved into the Borderline estate for six months."

Butters sighed, catching the seated blonde's eye and watching as realisation dawned there. "I know, Tweek."

###

Kyle wanted a shower.

It was 4.43 pm Friday and he'd been sitting in the same trousers and wrapped in a cocoon of heat since Tuesday evening and he was sick of it. His hair was a nightmare, frizzing and slicking to his forehead at the same time and the fever had run a dam of sweat between his shoulder blades. He wasn't going to sit in his own bodily bi-products, it just wasn't going to happen, especially in Eric Cartman's fucking house.

It was with that determination that the redhead had hauled himself to unsteady feet in the empty home and wobbled to a staircase carpeted in luscious red. The pain was a mite more bearable, aching and burning but lacking the searing stab he had grown used to and so he had dragged himself, sweating and shaking, up the flight of stairs with the help of the banister, hands trembling with the effort. He knew where the bathroom was, Stan and Kenny had dragged him up there a few times in the past three days and Cartman on one occasion though Kyle had refused to pee even with him outside the door.

Kyle groaned as he forced himself to straighten, body leaning heavily against the cream wall. He moved with all the grace of a one eyed chicken, legs bowing until he reached the white tiles of the bathroom floor with a gleeful giggle that had him pausing for a second to make certain there was no one around to hear him. He huffed as he twisted the dials of the brass tap to start the water running, plugging the bath and plonking down on the edge with enough force to have him almost toppling in; God what a way to go, offing yourself by accidentally cracking your head on a fucking bathtub.

The water was warm beneath his fingertips as he undid his buttons one handed and squirmed free of the disgusting jeans. He gripped the edge to swing first one leg and then the other over the white bath only to growl at the sight of the fluffy white bandages edged with sweat still around his middle. Well fuck them, Butters could put clean ones on him tonight. It's not like the blonde was going to run out anytime soon. Kyle unwrapped the white gauze with a vindictive delight, wincing with each jab to his healing rib. Nurse fucking Butters.

The gauze fell away, his hand dropping it on the tiled floor as his stomach came into view for the first time in days.

He stared, head bowed and eyes unblinking. So completely lost he didn't even hear the front door or the growling mutters of someone trudging up the stairs. The sounds of his friends calling his name in something akin to panic did not even register to him. One tremulous hand rose from the water, fingers hovering over the jagged incisions that took up most of his midsection, the stitching very visible and adding an almost Frankenstein-like gruesomeness to the battlefield that was his stomach. Painted in blacks and greens beneath the brittle skin, the stark white surrounding each bright and shiny number six made it all the more vibrant. His hand fell away dropping into the warm water as he brought his head up to stare at the man leaning against the door-frame of the bathroom door.

"Why?"

Eric watched him, pale body swamped in the massive bathtub and red hair plastered to his head with heat. Those green eyes were nearly black with shock, begging for an answer, a real answer; while at the same time pleading for it all to have been some sick mistake of his own mind. Eric had never seen the Jew so... Unsure.

"Because they could."

Kyle stared down at the satanic 666, mouth opening to ask questions he couldn't properly form. He snapped it shut, drawing in a breath big enough to make pain explode in his side and sinking back into the hot water.

Eric stood a moment, breath stilling at the very real possibility of Kyle trying to drown himself, before the redhead's hands came up to scrub through his hair with a speed that was almost vicious. That's it, Kyle, wash it out, Eric thought with a sigh, turning from the bathroom to find a pale faced Princess and twitching Blondie behind him. He jerked his head at the door, a command as well as permission to mind the kid, before his jaw clenched hard. Wash it all out.

###

"Any luck tailing the new kid?"

Stan blew smoke from his nose, mouth one aggravated line as Kenny lounged in the armchair beside him, upside down with his legs kicked over the headrest.

"No, Boss," Killer's bright eyes flickered to where Eric stood at his mantled fireplace, arms crossed over his red vest and trouser clad legs shoulder width apart. "Kid's been in school without fail but we never see him get out of a car and we never see him get collected. Maybe he lives there?"

"Don't be an ass, Killer," Stan grunted, flicking his tongue over his top lip and curling the smoke there before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. "They know Princess copped on and have been dropping him when the crowds mass, as for how we're missin' him leave, I can only assume kid's running tail and skipping his last few classes before someone turns up to scout for him. It's not like we can post someone for the whole school day, we've a deal with Mackey to let the students learn in peace while on school property and the fuckin' windbag's mouthy enough to be a problem if we break that deal."

Eric sneered at the mention of the aging Principle. Fucker was getting too big for his god damn boots. "Fuck it, let the Pipsqueak learn if he wants to learn, those fuckers can come out when they've got the balls to face me. It's been a week and a half and I've seen fuck all else. I'm callin' off the extra shifts."

Killer swung around the right side up, blonde hair falling over his eyes before he flicked it aside. Those blue eyes were a degree too bright. "Want me to send a message, Boss?"

Eric chuckled, much as he enjoyed Killer's wicked enthusiasm, there was no need. "Go role play for Princess, Killer, I've got no use for you 'till these Satan groupies grow a pair. Maybe then, but for now, no."

Stan chuckled at the disappointed grimace as he caught Kenny by the collar and hoisted the blonde to his feet. They moved to leave, only for Eric to call them back.

"Ya, Boss?"

Eric glanced at the ceiling of the living room, golden eyes narrowing. "I'm sending him home tomorrow. You're to drop off, keep guard and come home. Understand? No interaction, I need focus."

Stan and Kenny glanced at one another before two pairs of eyes met Eric's once more. "Got it, Boss."


	6. Chapter Six

Pip heaved a sigh, clutching his backpack where it hung off one slim shoulder as he dropped into the front passenger seat of the Nissan parked outside the park's wrought iron gate. He knocked the peak cap from his head to drag pale fingers through his damp blonde hair, perfecting the middle part as the car kicked into gear and took off down the street milling with busy bodies and the everyday South Park shopper. Another week of school done and dusted without any hiccups.

"How you gettin' on, Squeak?"

Pip rid himself of the grey jacket he had taken to wearing in the chill, mouth twisting in a thoughtful pout. "It is good in the sense that the classes are most excellent, Kicker. The teachers are very competent and I do love learning so many new things. It will be a relief to finally stick around long enough to graduate and finish my schooling."

The man by the nickname of Kicker was impressive even lounging in the front seat of the downplayed car, his long legs relaxed against the pedals and one snow white arm stretched out to control the wheel. He threw a flinty smirk in Pip's direction, his brown hair falling over his brow in one sweep from the cropped section of his hair. "But?"

Pip sighed, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. "But it's quite inconvenient having to miss my final class every day and not being able to talk to anyone. Not that there are many people willing to befriend an outdated guy such as myself but the ones that do, Damien has me avoiding because of their questioning. I'm sure Butters was only being friendly, Clyde."

Clyde grunted, mouth curling in a sneer at the stupid name. What kind of kid was called Butters? "Omen's only lookin' out for you, Squeak. We dunno who hangs out with who in this place and it wouldn't do us no favours to have you too friendly with anyone hangin' out with the Knives. Supposin' this... Butters... was one of them, hey? And gettin' in thick with him was his way of lurin' out the boss by threatenin' to off you? What position would that leave us in, huh? You know Omen wouldn't let nothing happen to you."

Pip smiled, cheeks flushing, "I know, Kicker. But, from what I've seen, Butters is a genuinely nice guy and his friend Tweek is really shy and quiet, they simply do not seem like the type to hurt anyone. And Kyle! I forgot Kyle, he was sick but he came back to school this morning and gosh, he's just the sweetest thing. All smiles and apologies for missing so much class. The poor dear."

Clyde sucked his teeth thoughtfully, turning into the lot and pulling the car to a jerking stop. He bent forward to rest his arms against the wheel, dark eyes staring up at the fancy houses that all faced one another and gave some degree of privacy against the ever curious city folk. He didn't like the thought of this Tweek and Butters, not one bit. After their questioning and the way he had seen the blondes watch Pip leave the parking lot of the school that first day he had collected Squeak, he would bet money on the pair not being what they appeared to be.

This Kyle, though, it was the first time Pip had mentioned him. Sick, was he? And if he was such a worm about missing school, then he would hardly have the gossip mongers of the popular crowds to listen to. Maybe that was the safest place to start giving Squeak the bit of freedom he so desperately wanted. He hated seeing the kid cooped up all alone.

"Alright," he growled, popping the latch and moving from the car as Pip did the same on his side, "This Kyle fella you can meet in the park. I'll ask Omen if he'll send a few men out to keep an eye. If he's harmless, you can find a friend in him. If not, we'll know."

Pip gave a victorious yelp, his arms wrapping around the bulk of Clyde's torso and squeezing. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Kicker! You'll see, he's harmless! This is fantastic!"

###

It was beyond surreal.

A little over a week had passed since Kyle had walked from Cartman's house to Stan's car, sweat beading his forehead at the stares from the Knives he hardly knew and the ones he knew nothing at all of. Silence had dictated the drive back home, his own panicked breathing the only sound in the dark space as Stan gunned down the darkening streets Saturday evening with Kenny like some hooded ghost in the backseat. Kyle had not dared to move his lips or ask a question lest it break the hope that he was finally going home.

He had all but sprinted from the car when it pulled to a stop, aching side and stiff bandages his only reminder of the violence he had had to face as a sense of home left him near breathless. The house stood the same, untouched; perplexing enough that he had to still for a moment and wonder if his subconscious mind had really believed Cartman wouldn't tear it down for Kyle being an unwilling interference in his game.

The redhead had thrown one petrified look over his shoulder, light enough to see Stan's head bow foreword where it leaned against the wheel and Kenny's furrowed face watching him step over the lush green grass of his front lawn. He had turned from them, then, as he had three years ago, his fist coming up to lash against the door until his father's wide eyed face had greeted him.

What his old friends did after he had broken into tears and been dragged across the threshold by his smiling father, Kyle did not know nor could he bring himself to care. He recalled only his mother's tear stained face as she held his cheeks and clutched him close and his brother's shakey 'welcome home'. They had believed him dying or dead, his mother had confessed to him in the sombre lighting of the front-room fire as she propped a bowl of stew on the table before him. No matter that Stan had come around to try and ease their fears, the fact that no one had seen him had led to his death being the most widely contemplated rumour in the estate, as well as in school. When he had shown face there Monday morning, it was to friends he had never before classified as friends gripping him in hugs that pained his wounds and asking him where he had been held hostage the past week. Needless to say, the lie that he had been severely sick went over the heads of many who refused to believe him and instead shook their heads as though it were a cover up story. Which it was. Still, the fact that he was back was the main point.

The redhead ran a hand across his face, bringing some bit of colour to his pale cheeks and pushing his fringe back out of his eyes. Monday had come around again and with it came an end to making excuses for not being able to leave his home at the weekend and a fresh week of looking behind his shoulder every day he walked home from school. Had he been a tad more gutless, he would have begged his father to take a later lunch and collect him, but his stubborn streak was not proud of even contemplating that thought, and so he suffered on; certain that each corner would reveal the tall, dark eyed monster from his nightmares that had branded him for life. Butters had come by his home only the day before to change his bandages, seeing as Kyle could not bring himself to tell or show his parents exactly what had happened. Even healing, with the skin returning to peach and some stitches dissolving to leave livid welts but no open tear; it was still a gruesome sight. The blonde's lips had thinned as Kyle had watched him apply the cooling antiseptic gel, his fingers quivering until Kyle had flicked him in the ear and smiled up at him.

Little good it would do him to weep about it now. He was better off with the reminder of how right he had been all those years ago to turn his back on the idea of the gang.

"Um, Kyle?"

Kyle fixed on a smile, leaning back in his chair to glance up at the person stood in front of him. "Hi Pip, you okay?"

The slender figured Brit smiled, wide and bright, as he perched himself on the edge of Kyle's desk before class began. Kyle couldn't help but feel at ease in the boy's quirky presence, had already shared several lunches with him in the school cafeteria when Butters and Tweek played woe-as-me on the bench in the school yard. The pair had dragged Kyle with them when he returned to school, only for the rumour mill to explode outwards with ideas of Kyle joining the Knives or getting cosier with the pair to try and find an in with the gang. It happened every time he chose to eat with the two blondes or walk with them to the local park in the hotter months, but with the incident being so raw, Kyle had resorted to seeing them only every second or third day, and never outside of school hours or the comfort of his own home. He never wanted to find himself outside past curfew again.

"I am quite alright, Kyle," Pip's voice broke into his thoughts, jerking his attention back to his classmate, "I was wondering if you would perhaps agree to spend a moment of your time with me at some point, in the park down the hill?"

Kyle's brow furrowed, his lips tightening in a straight line. "Why?"

Pip seemed, for a moment, embarrassed, his shoulders slumping forward as he bent to whisper beneath the loud voices of his peers. "To be perfectly honest, Kyle, I would really like to make a friend. No one here is very eager to be civil to me, let alone nice and, well, you've tried your hardest to make sure I'm comfortable even though you've been ill." He smiled a soft smile, clutching the book he held to his chest, "It's quite alright if you do not want to, I enjoy our chats the occasional lunchtime, I simply thought I'd ask for your friendship, not just as a fellow classmate."

Kyle's suspicion crumpled, his mouth turning in an apologetic grimace. "Ah, geez, Pip, of course I don't mind becoming friends. Sure, I'd love to meet you in the park. I can show you the different flowers, you know, some of them are nearly ten years old? Stan's uncle got us planting them when we were kids as a project one summer," he chuckled, "we just about managed to do that right, though how Butters didn't end of buried to his neck with all his singing, I'll never know."

Pip smiled beautifully, bright eyes staring down at Kyle gratefully, "Thank you, Kyle. I promise I won't keep you out late and I'll walk you home after, okay?"

Kyle nodded, doubts vanishing as the blonde took the seat beside him. "No problem, Pip."

###

The odd couple sat on one of the bench's that were scattered about Mason Park, their backs to the flurry of small children that tore through the weathered jungle gym and facing the shallow pond that was home, at any given time, to no more than a few ruffled ducks and one or two croaking frogs. Pip wore his tailored jacket, lean denim-clad legs spread out before him and crossed at the ankles as he tipped his head back to stare blindly up at the blue sky. It was warm for this time of the month, enough so to stave away the usual cold wind and have the blonde discard his favourite cap in his backpack.

Kyle sat beside him, feet tucked beneath his bottom in a position that portrayed ease and comfort; while in essence, it was entirely the opposite. The subtle turn of his body allowed the whole open space of the park to come into view, his green eyes nervous even as he smiled at the squawking ducks and rested back against the wooden armrest. Pockets of trees were his only blind spots, his fingers twitching where he held them hidden in his coat every time a shrieking child ran passed them. What was wrong with him? This was his park, where he came to study and get away from the taunting of being friends with 'undesirables'. This was supposed to be a place of peace and good memories and he was going to let all that be soiled because of one stupid incident? The redhead tempered down a scowl. Get a grip, Kyle.

"What's the face for, pal?"

Kyle sighed, leaning his forehead for a moment against the wooden back of the bench. "Just remembering the time Kenny tried to push me into the pond. Childhood memories, eh? You gotta take the good with the bad." He chuckled, drawing a smile from Pip.

"Well, if not for the bad memories, we would have nothing to compare with to see how special the good memories really were, in my opinion." The blonde leaned forward to bury his hands in his rucksack, clicking his tongue when he found the lunchbox with the leftover salted crackers. "This park is just a place, right? It's somewhere that could be anywhere and mean anything. For you, it's a piece of childhood, both good and bad. For someone older, it could be a new addition that took away a historical part of South Park. Then again, for a child, it could be that place where they scraped their knee that one time and be the stuff of nightmares. Everything's in the context."

Kyle watched the Brit throw the crackers, broken by nimble fingers, into the water, delighting in the flurry of feather and wing and the battle for food. "And to these little creatures, it is simply a place to become fat without having to do any work. A paradise."

"You're kind of a genius, Pip, aren't you?"

The blonde flushed at the praise, smile small and head bending forward to hide his cheeks behind his hair. He turned to Kyle with a grin. "One must never underestimate the power of a free thinking mind. True, friend?"

Kyle beamed, fears forgotten for the moment as the strange new boy who had crash landed into his life brought him from one running topic to the next, never settling enough for a debate to become heated or to fizzle into one of them becoming wrong. The redhead had little idea how long he stayed on that bench in the end, his voice growing steadily stronger and his hands moving to emphasise each point. No one had drawn him in with simple good-natured intelligence and the desire to fill the silence in a long, long time and Kyle latched to the genuine bond like a moth to a flame, his smile unwavering as Pip dragged opinions from him and pulled him to his feet to explain the origins of the flowers the kids of South Park had planted.

It was not until the street lights snapped on outside the main entrance and the sun hung low enough to tinge the horizon pink that Kyle clamped up and Pip agreed to walk him home with a baffled smile, unsure as to why his newfound friend was so skittish with the thought of the approaching night. Still, afraid of the dark or not, Pip didn't hesitate to pull the redhead into a grateful hug as they reached the estate; demands of more time together outside of school swift to leave his tongue. As he strolled back to the park and the ebony dark hatchback that awaited him, he could not keep the smile from his face. He knew he had been right to think Kyle was harmless.

###

Two sets of eyes had watched them from the front seat of the nondescript car perched by the park's side gate, one dark and one a piercing ruby colour that all but glowed beneath pitch black hair.

Damien had felt his second, Clyde, more commonly known as Kicker, tense the moment Pip had come into view of the park. The blonde had been chattering happily as he dragged his itty-bitty, wide-eyed school mate to a bench and plonked themselves down. For twenty minutes, he had watched the redhead, gaze intense enough that Damien would have thought him infatuated at first sight, if not for the telltale signs of vicious calculation that made Clyde's spine rigid and had his hand hovering over the gun in his waistband.

As the pair had dissolved into talk and laughter, Clyde's hand had relaxed and Damien waited patiently for his thoughts.

"That would be your missing message kneeling beside your boy, Omen."

Red eyes slanted in thought, a soft sigh leaving his smirking lips as his eyes trained, for the first time, on the boy that had captured his Kicker's attention. A tiny little thing, smaller even than his Pipsqueak, with vibrant red locks and a pretty little face. A tiny, fragile doll. 

"You're losing your touch, Kicker. The boy looks far too healthy to be a real message."

Clyde growled, eyes seething as he watched Kyle stand with the help of Pip, gaze pinning on the bulky red jacket the kid wore. "Would have finished the fucking job if the night patrol hadn't arrived on the scene and nearly took out Beast. Still, kid's stronger than he looks. I gouged enough holes in him to have any normal kitten bedridden for another week at least. I could finish the job if you like?"

A click and silver glinted in the sunlight, Clyde's smile a vicious one as he tapped his blade against the leather of his pants, eyes pinned on the kitten that had squirmed from his grasp. Would be a damn shame to waste the sweet thing, but he was sure he could have enough fun with the little schoolboy before the light faded from those pretty green eyes.

"It does beg the question," Damien's voice drawled out, curious and bored all at the same time, "as to why the little doll's not bedridden. Or dead, for that matter."

He watched the redhead's eyes flicker around the park, still uneasy as he unconsciously grabbed his stomach. Still a fresh wound then. "You said the message had no Knife symbol on him? Nothing to tie him to the gangs and yet they picked him up instead of leaving him for the early birds to find in the morning?"

Clyde nodded once, mouth tight. "Saw 'em cart him into one of the cars and take off like fuckin' daredevils. Thought it was just 'cause he was a message though. To be honest, I expected to see his head on a pike come dawn as a response."

"Indeed," Damien rolled his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "which again begs the question, why is the little doll walking and talking and looking all patched up. Someone up high pulling his strings, perhaps? Not that he's aware of it. He's scanned the park six times already and his nerves are enough to spark flint." His head shook slow, form one side to the other as those dark red eyes stayed fixed on the pair. "No, no, no, this little doll doesn't have the security blanket most gang-bangers carry with them. This one's a free little birdie, but someone's definitely got an eye on him."

"So..." Clyde frowned, sliding his thumb along the edge of his knife and smudging the blood that beaded there against the cool metal. "We let him draw out whoever's got him tagged?"

Damien chuckled, tall form leaning back in the seat and dragging a cigarette from behind one ear to his smirking lips. "We see what the little doll makes of us, and whether he's caught the eye of the person I think he's caught the eye of." The dull glow of a lighter flickered at the same time the redhead's laugh echoed from the park, followed by Pip's indignant spluttering. "No word of this to Squeak. He'll have my head if he knows I'm using his new friend as bait and I don't need him gettin' caught in the crossfire over some misplaced sense of loyalty."

Clyde licked the leftover blood from his thumb. "Noted, Omen."


	7. Chapter Seven

Butters jumped, the sound of a door slamming shut causing the pot he was holding to jerk in his grasp and the sauce to splatter out against the counter tops. Blue eyes glared in dismay at the mess, a frown puckering his lips as Kenny stormed like a beast through the kitchen and into the connected sitting room without so much as a glance in his direction. Rolling his eyes, Butters pulled the dish cloth from the sink and scrubbed away the ruined sauce.

Well, Kenny could darn well have his pasta and chicken dry then if he wasn't going to apologise for bursting into their home like a bat out of hell. The sharp sound of the TV met the growing silence as Kenny stood in the centre of the room, remote in one hand as he flicked through the channels until settling on one and throwing the device to the couch.

"Butters, come here."

Butters come here, the smaller blonde mimicked silently, wrinkling his pert nose and ignoring the glowering blonde to turn the heat down on the oven. Butters do this, Butters do that. No, thank you Butters, you're so good for fixing Kyle up like a rag doll and making your dinner every night of the week. God forbid...

"Now, Butters."

The dishcloth was flung down, Butters glaring at his stained t shirt before stomping over to the carpeted room, though how menacing he sounded in his socks he wasn't exactly sure. "What, Kenny?"

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him down into a familiar lap. He choked on a demand to be set loose, struggling to stand up again until Kenny's voice whispered "look" against his ear and thin fingers gripped his chin to force his eyes to the television screen.

Butters stilled, mouth parting in a silent gasp as South Park's local news flared across the flat screen, showing a stern faced police woman by the name of Rita Hanihen before snapping to a picture of Denne's Butcher shop, now gutted from the inside out and destroyed by black smoke stains. The place that Butters had so often visited in search of cheap meats was completely destroyed by what could have only been a fire.

Butters leaned forward, brow furrowed as Hanihen growled about delinquent gangs and pointless violence, painting a picture of how the shop had gone up in flames in the early hours of the morning, setting alight to the house beside it that was home to the Denne family. No deaths, Butters heard with an audible sigh of relief, but the father was in hospital and the children carted away to family outside of the town. The source had been nothing as simple as a frayed electrical unit, though, oh no. A bottle of whiskey, stuffed with a rag and set alight before being hurled through the main shop window and exploding like a wet grenade. The blonde drew back at the thoughts of the makeshift weapon, he had never seen the damage one could do with something so terrifyingly simple.

"And what do you make of this senseless act of violence committed against a family with no known links to the Knives? A warning, perhaps?" The reporter's voice was sketchy, fishing for information as Hanihen's face glared at the camera once more. She shook her head, mouth a grim line.

"The only link we have that this was, indeed, the work of a gang was the message carved into the front door and it's not an icon we've ever linked to the Knives. Much as I hate to admit it, this seems to be the work of another group or person. We have no evidence as of now that would support us in arresting any known affiliates of the South Park gang. As is always the case." The final statement was muttered, the police woman's face thunderous as she waved the reporter away and the screen snapped to an image of the front door.

Butters cried out, both in outrage and fright as the glaringly obvious 666 carved into the front door of the Butcher shop came into view. It was sharp, quickly done, a near perfect mimic of the wounds Kyle now bore on his stomach. The screen went blank, Butters shifting where he sat to eye the remote clenched in Kenny's outstretched hand, before bringing wide eyes to the dark blue of Kenny's own.

It was not his loving boyfriend who stared down at him, but Killer; second in command of the Knives and as quick to violence as Boss himself. His jaw was clenched, gaze hooded and blonde hair wild where it poked from beneath his hood.

"You're not to leave this house, Butters, am I understood?"

The smaller wilted, sniffling as he wrapped his arms around Kenny's neck and buried his face in the taller boy's chest. "But school, Killer..."

Swift hands grabbed his hips, turning the boy's body until Butters was straddling him and the tense fingers gripped those slender hips hard enough to bruise. "I'll take you to school, kid, and collect you. I mean no more runnin' off when I'm gone. Your parents can't visit for a while either." Butters whined and Kenny loosened his grip, stroking small patterns against the boy's back until he relaxed in his grip. "They've been staking out a perimeter. Red was shot at on shift by the holiday homes and it goes as far east as Tuckturn Street where Legs nabbed one of the ones Ghost recognised from the night with Kyle."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Butters whispered, jerking back to stare at Kenny. The dark eyed boy sighed, dragging his nails against the exposed skin of Butters sides, before a soft smile melted the coldness from his handsome face.

"Nothin' to fret over, Princess. Red wasn't hurt and Legs got the fucker back to Boss with only a scratch or two. This isn't your business to be dealin' with, okay? You worry about school, worry about what we'll have for dinner and finishin' your education and let us deal with these posers."

"I dunno, Killer..." Butters moaned as those nails dragged a little harder, pitching forward to lean his forehead against the blonde's shoulder and panting as Kenny canted his hips upwards against the smaller boy's spread legs. "This gang seems... different... dangerous."

Kenny chuckled, breath ghosting over Butter's ear and causing the younger of the pair to stiffen as those hands worked their way beneath the flimsy tie of his tracksuit bottoms. He whined as Kenny palmed him, drawing another chuckle from the taller boy.

"I can show you dangerous, Princess."

###

Blood sprayed across the cement floor, the sounds of vicious screams echoing in the empty space for an endless second before it gave way to snarled curses and gasped breaths, each one harder to drag through bleeding lips than the last.

Stan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, lifting the cigarette from where it rested in a glass ashtray and pulling from it with a hum of approval. He dropped it back down to snap open the gun in his hand, eyeing the remaining bullets before he clicked it closed with an exhale of white smoke.

"Awful mouthy for someone unwillin' to talk, aren't you, dipshit?"

Bland grey eyes glared up at him from beneath a badly-dyed head of scarlet hair, slick to the stranger's forehead with sweat. He spat blood from his mouth, split lip sending a trickle of ruby red down his chin as he bared his teeth.

The boy wore a shirt of scarlet and leather trousers tucked into knee high black boots. His pretty top barely clung to his skinny frame with the many slashes Etta had carved into the cloth and into his skin. The vibrant black 666 tattoo on the inside of his right arm stood out even with the new bullet hole in his shoulder sending a leak of dark blood down the limb. The kid was experienced, there was no getting around that. They had only lucked out in grabbing him after he had hauled Legs into an alley thinking she was some bystander that could act as another stupid message.

Stan grinned, taking aim and pulling the trigger with a sadistic thrill that set his blood alight. The screams sounded again, ringing in the out of commission and abandoned factory that bordered main Knife territory. Blood trickled like black water against the kid's leg, jerking his body where it sat strapped to the metal chair and painting the floor in small drops. Poor fucker had just grabbed the wrong chick. Legs wasn't in the Knives because she was fucking pretty. He doubted the skinny goth boy knew what hit him when she had shoved a gun in his back and Ghost had appeared before him and knocked him unconscious. Much as he hated Ghost's little trick, it came in mighty fucking handy when paired with his Wendy playing the part of the sobbing schoolgirl. The girl was a born fucking actress.

"Clocks a tickin', little emo boy, any final last words? Hail Satan and all that jazz?"

Etta's shrieking laughter brought an answering smile to Stan's lips, his eyes sliding over to see her twist one of her silver plated blades in her fingers. Short and with hips that would put any woman to shame, Etta was built for accuracy, not speed. The little goth girl, more commonly known as Henrietta or Etta to the Knives, was downright playful when it came to interrogations; which was probably why Boss let her take over with the more stubborn players.

Speaking of interrogations, Stan's gaze flickered back to see the skinny redhead bent as much as possible with his ties, chest heaving and mouth an ugly sneer. "Go... fuck... Yourself."

Stan sighed, rolling his eyes in boredom. Same old, same old. He leveled his gun at the boy's head, knocking his face upwards. Those dull grey eyes widened for a split second before his mouth set in a grim line and he met Stan's eye.

"Omen's gonna take you down."

The piercing ring of a gunshot filled the empty space before the words had barely left the boy's lips.

Stan turned from the slumped body with a grunt, mouth tilting upwards as he met Cartman's stare from where the man had moved to one of the dust-caked windows. Boss stared back at him, before jerking his head to Etta and the newly initiated Knife that stood by her side. They would have to make quick work before shift if they wanted that body pinned outside the alleyway he had tried to drag Legs down.

###

A newspaper clipping was shoved before his face where he sat, head bowed, at one of the lunch tables. His eyes took in the gruesome image of a boy only a scant few years older than himself pinned to rotten wooden boards in a lousy imitation of Jesus' crucifixion and propped against the one way street just a mile from the school.

"Jesus," Kyle blanched, pushing the paper aside and gaping up at the person who had shoved it in his face. "The fuck is wrong with you, Bebe? I don't need to see this shit!"

Bebe glared at him, blonde crop tucked behind her ears as she took the clipping away and shoved it back in her bag. "I'm showing you what happens when you fuck up and get involved with gangs, Kyle. The whole school knows Butters has a link and suspects Tweek is well in there too and now they're starting to think the same about you! You need to ditch those two and that new loser and get a fucking grip, Kyle."

"Since when do I care what the school thinks?" Kyle sneered, tugging his lunch plate closer and stabbing his fork into the curry with a vengeance. Geez, miss a week and everyone thinks you're murdered. Hang with the wrong people and everyone thinks you're a murderer. This wasn't the first time he had had close classmates urging him to spend more time with them and pulling him away from the study periods he had created with Pip in the library twice a week. Why couldn't people just mind their own business and let him be? It was not like the majority of them gave a shit when he was good old bookworm Kyle and nothing interesting seemed to be happening to him.

"Since it's becoming a matter of life or death, you stupid twit." Bebe plonked herself down on the bench across from him, glaring at Pip when the blonde waved at Kyle before heading in another direction. "That kid, for instance. What the fuck do you, or anyone else for that matter, know about him? Oh he's an only child, livin' with his father, seems like a great kid. Anyone seen this father, hmm? Anyone seen his house? He shows up here a few weeks before all these assaults and that's not the littlest bit suspicious to you? He could be a part of this new gang everyone's goin' on about!"

"He could also be a normal kid trying to fit in and just happen to have arrived at the wrong time." Kyle sighed, dropping his fork and putting a hand to his stomach to rub weakly, his assailants taunting remark still fresh in his head.

Wrong place. Wrong time.

Fuck, had he not had this debate with Butters when the blonde found out about their meeting up and tried to discourage Kyle? Had Butters not said those very same words and tried to make Pip seem like some sneaky, two-faced monster. What the hell happened to giving people the benefit of the doubt? He had done it for Butters and Tweek hadn't he? Hell, he was still doing it for Stan and Kenny and he knew those two were so deep in blood, they were swimming in it. Was it so wrong of him to assume that Pip was a decent guy even if he was caught up in all this shit about a new gang? It wasn't like the kid had lured him to an empty house and tried to sacrifice him to Satan.

Not that saying any of this had calmed Butters. If anything, it had made him more eager to stick by Kyle's side on their way to and from classes and offer to give the redhead a lift home with Kenny and himself on multiple occasions. Likewise, saying it to Bebe would be just as pointless. The girl was thick headed when it came to violence and as stubborn as Wendy had once been. Ever since she had 'lost' her best friend to the game, Bebe was a downright tyrant against bullying and had not hesitated to snap at the football players that used to give Kyle and others grief.

"Look, Bebe," Kyle sighed, pushing his plate aside and blinking away the image of that stranger so horrifically killed from his mind, "I know you think I'm in with this shit and you're trying to protect me, but I can honestly tell you I'm not. If I never have something to do with the Knives it'll be a day too soon. Butters and Tweek are my friends, have been for far longer than all this crap's been going on. I'm not about to lose that because of rumours of who they're dating and what they do in their spare time. Same with Pip, no excuse you can think of is gonna make me think that the dude who almost burst into tears for knocking over Amy's sculpture in art is an evil guy."

Bebe was biting her lip, her frown torn between angry and cautious. In the end, she sighed, blowing her cheeks out in exasperation as she stood and swung her shoulder bag over her head. "I hope for your sake that you're right, Kyle. I hate judging people, but I'd hate to see you end up as some stupid gang message even more."

Been there, bought the t-shirt, Kyle thought wryly as he stood to dump his uneaten food in the bin. There was no way in hell he was going down that road again, willingly or no. As far as he was concerned, the next time someone came at him with a knife it would be to end his life because he was going out fucking fighting.

The redhead tucked his hair behind one ear, body tense as he made his way from the lunchroom to his locker. Thoughts of the Knives, and one in particular, were both jaded and vibrant in his mind; his ordeal seeming at the same time both years old and fresh enough to still feel the cold blade inside his own skin. His nightmares were plagued with shadowed demons and faceless abusers and a pair of slanted gold eyes that had him drenched in his own sweat. Without fail, memories of the top dog never failed to send a streak of fear up his spine and twist his stomach with something he was almost more afraid of than the nightmares.

If he never saw Eric Cartman again, it would be too fucking soon.


	8. Chapter Eight

Even the fucking supermarket was shifty.

Kyle grit his teeth as another trolley collided with his hip, the owner apologising with a petrified squeak before canting off in another direction, shoulders tense as though she wanted nothing more than to turn around to watch her own back.

The redhead rolled his eyes and rubbed the throbbing bone slowly, bending to grab the oranges he had dropped because of the incident. That was twice now someone had collided with him because they had been too damn twitchy to watch where they were going. It wasn't like someone was going to come up behind them in fucking Wal-mart and press a gun to their skulls. Hell, he had never seen a shopping centre so on edge, so tense. It was like they expected a gang member to pop out of the freezer and kill them all.

God, he remembered this.

As much as he hated to admit it, if there was one thing the Knives had done in South Park, it had been to offer the everyday man and woman the peace of mind of knowing that if they kept their noses to themselves they wouldn't have them chopped off. With the arrival of this new nameless gang and their stupid 666 motto the city was as filled with violent tension as it had been years ago when he had been fifteen and afraid to leave the fucking school yard before his mother came to collect him.

It was bullshit. All of it. There was no sense nor meaning to the stupid feuds that had put people in hospital and some in an early grave. There was no point to it beyond the two gangs wanting to split the town in fucking half and they had just about succeeded. Everyone knew now which streets were painted red and which streets were the ones the Knives would slice you up for taking at the wrong time. What was their problem? It wasn't as if something could be gained from this stupid little war of theirs, wasn't as if anyone gave a shit who was controlling what as long as they could guarantee a day without having some new assault or fire or break in on the six o clock news.

Hell, they weren't even trying to keep it out of the eye of the cops anymore. Those associated with the Knives wore the clipped metal bands and their black ink tattoos like they were something to be proud of; a red flag in the face of a bull. Even the 666 gang had tired of stalking the shadows, were carrying their markings as if they were a tribute to just how fucking spectacular they thought they were. New faces were cropping up all along the border they had created for themselves, some going so far as to arrive into school and pick up a timetable like it was all some hilarious joke.

God, the first time he had seen the two of them; standing out like sharks in a kiddie's pool. They had dropped into seats in study hall in their blood red vest tops and clicking boots, one a tall narrow-faced Goth whose kohl-lined eyes screamed murder and the other an olive-skinned blonde that winked at Kyle in a way that made his stomach turn. He had no doubt in his mind one, if not both of them, knew exactly who he was and what their buddies had done to him and that thought alone had brought him racing to the school bathroom to empty his stomach.

But he could not fucking lose to them, he wouldn't. He would not give the fuckers the satisfaction of toying with him, of seeing him crumple like he was some china doll whose strings had been cut. And so for the past two weeks he had ignored them, ignored the stares and the subtle winks that made his skin crawl. He had all but thrown himself into his studies, into the hours he spent with Pip in the library and the lunchtimes he filled trying to get Butters, Tweek and Pip to sit together and calm the fuck down. This shit could get into the heads of every other stupid person in South Park, he would not let it get to him.

"Kyle?"

The basket of oranges crinkled in his clenched fist as his head darted up. Kyle smiled before dropping the fruit into the plastic basket that already held other bits and leaning it against the side of his body that was not housing his healing rib.

"Hiya, Pip, how are you?"

The blonde smiled back, batting a bottle of water he held against his thigh. "I'm quite well, friend, and you? Would you like a hand with that?"

The basket was taken from Kyle's arm and he smiled at the blonde in thanks, before starting up the fruit aisle once more. "I'm good, Pip. What's got you down around here so early on a Saturday morning?"

The blonde held the bottle of water up with a grin. "I was out walking and it was the closest shop. Although I have to say, the town does seem busiest on a Saturday morning. I was expecting it to be near deserted so that I could take up jogging again, but that's definitely not the case. And heaven forbid I jog in front of so many people." The taller of the two shuddered and Kyle noticed for the first time that he was dressed in track suit bottoms and a thermal t shirt, the material slick to his skin.

"I didn't know you jogged."

Pip grinned, holding the basket open as Kyle chucked in the usual shopping that caught his eye. "I used to quite a bit, but what with the move and all, I stopped. I do miss it, though. I had to all but beg Damien to take me out of the stupid house for fresh air at the very least and when that didn't work I threatened to leave on my own at dawn. Needless to say, that got him out of bed."

"Damien?" Kyle stood on tip toe to reach the bagels, wincing at the stretch in his side, "Is he from school? I don't think I know a Damien."

He glanced up to see Pip's smile drop a fraction, before the blonde pulled the bagels down with a smile and popped them in the basket. "Indeed, we immediately clicked! I sometimes stay at his house on the weekends. I doubt you would know the name, he isn't much of a people person I'm afraid, like myself, and he was home-schooled for quite a bit."

"Ah," Kyle nodded, there were certainly a number of those in South Park. It wasn't every parent that was happy to let their little one off to school with the level of violence that had been in the town. They rounded the corner and Kyle waved to where his mother stood by one of the aisles, her stance relaxing as he came into view. He turned to Pip, taking the basket from the boy who stood a fraction taller than himself with a grin. "So, this Damien, he's a good enough friend that you stay at his house, huh? Should I be jealous?"

Pip flushed at the teasing grin, rapping his bottle of water against the redhead's arm with a sigh. "You hush, Kyle Broflovski. He is a sweetheart, if you must know, he simply worries about me being alone... And who wouldn't with all the chaos that's being going on around here lately." He glanced down at Kyle, a small smirk flitting across his lips before he turned towards one of the self-service machines and called over his shoulder, "a bunch of hell-raisers is all they are, if you ask me."

Kyle quirked a brow at his friend, shaking his head with a laugh before he turned to join his mother with the rest of the shopping. Hell Raisers, now that was a good name for them.

###

Dark eyes watched him stuff his heavy books in the shiny polished locker, finger tapping against his pink, pursed lips as he sorted through those he would need to be a good little boy and complete his homework for the following Monday. Slim hands sealed the metal clasp of his backpack with a snap before closing the locker with a solid bang, his auburn locks bowing in a subconscious nod of satisfaction before he turned and started off down the hallway filled with seniors eager to be free of school, even if it meant a weekend crawling the streets to get around with their friends or watching from the simple safety of their bedroom windows.

Michael sighed, leaning against the cold lockers as he watched the redhead make his way down the manic corridor, sticking to the walls lest his stomach was rammed with a misplaced elbow or his side was dealt a blow from a classmate too important to bother noticing him. The one that got away, and he was a fucking loser. "Can't I just put an end to the poor sod's miserable existence?"

A shoulder barreled into his back, jarring him forward even as he snapped his jaws in retaliation. "Fuckin' watch it, Roo."

Roo bared his teeth in response, a wolfish smile that cast dimples across his cheeks. His dusky blonde hair spilled over one brown eye as he swiveled to watch Kyle disappear into the crowds. An eyebrow tilted, making the look he cast on his fellow Hell Raiser one of exasperation. "Babydoll ain't even worth it, Chick. We watch him, ya, Omen's orders. We ain't endin' nothin' 'till the little flower stumbles into neutral grounds all on his lonesome."

The taller of the pair snorted, Michael slanting a glare at his comrade as he flicked jet black curls from his forehead. The Goth was one high up in Damien's esteem, held close to the boss' chest not for his pleasant personality or unending loyalty, though the latter was a given; no, Michael was a weapon by the name of Poe, for the Goth's love of the occult as well as for Damien's wicked sense of humour. He had stood on everything and everyone in his climb to Damien's side and that was where he would stay, a serrated blade never far from his finger's reach and an irredeemable lust for bloodshed and revenge. And man, was Poe itching for revenge.

Ever since the Hell Raisers had watched the police drag Pete's blood-stained corpse from those wooden boards, Michael had been a fucking nightmare, going so far as to tear through downtown South Park at one point and aim his gun in the face of every drunken fool and techno-giddy high-schooler that crossed his path.

"I know my fuckin' orders, Roo." Michael snarled, pushing the snickering blonde forward through the crowd of students that tried to stare at them in the least obvious of ways. They slammed the front doors open with an outward swing, Roo cracking his knuckles as they made their way to the sleek silver Camaro that stood waiting for them in the lot. "I just want justice for Pete. He didn't deserve what those fuckers did to him and the closest thing I have to knowing who those Knife bastards are is that stupid fucking redhead. We should have sliced his throat that night, I fucking told you so."

Roo let him seethe, rolling his eyes as the Goth threw himself into the driver seat before walking around to his side. His eyes lifted to catch a glimpse of said redhead falter where he was walking along the designated path from school, his hand going to his side to squeeze, before he started off again with a shake of his head. Dark eyes narrowed as Roo slid into his seat.

"Y'know, there ain't nothin' tyin' babydoll to those Knives 'cept the fact that he's still walkin'. I ain't seen nobody he's friendly with that'd fit the description of one of them that has this whole city under control. All he hangs out with is losers and bookworms and that's includin' Squeak." Roo propped one booted foot against the dash as the car roared to life and slid into motion, Michael's narrowed gaze flicking to him.

"What're you gettin' at?"

"I'm gettin' at maybe he ain't nobody. Maybe them Knives just fucked him in front of the nearest hospital and babydoll was a quick healer."

Michael only snorted again, fingers bracing on the wheel as he swung around corners, too quick to care if he took someone's life with the bonnet of his car. "Knife or no, we've to wait 'till he goes out alone and finish the job. No one gets away with just carrying a message with their mouth, we got a reputation to keep, right?" he grinned at the boy beside him, drawing another shark-like smile from the blonde, "if he's protected, we draw out whatever Knife has got him tagged and we get revenge for Pete. If he's not, then I'll still enjoy seein' if he can heal with a bullet in his skull."

###

What was wrong with him?

Really, had he some mental fault that made him believe he was impervious to bullets? Did he think the solution to raw tension and lead-fueled chaos was really going to be one lone voice telling people how stupid they were being?

Kyle wiped sweat from his brow, back pressed against the wet stone of the wall that housed the public playground. He pulled his rain jacket further around his stomach, legs shivering wrapped as they were only in a pair of scuffed jeans. His red curls were stuffed into an old woollen hat, frayed around its green edges from years of having to brave South Park's windier nights. He pulled it down around his ears with pale fingers. He should go home now. He should take his stupid ideas and bury them in the back of his skull with all the rest and just turn around and walk the twelve minutes it had taken him to trudge from the safety of his house to the playground.

Not that there was any immediate danger... The town was dark with only a few scattered street lights; every home and business he passed doused in darkness, their occupants sleeping. Of course, that was what every sane person in South Park would be doing at four o clock in the morning, even the freaking gang members. He had met no one in his scurry through the dark streets and no car had passed him; as if the city itself had shut down and given in for the night, weary from the stress of it all. All of this, and the direction his steps had been taking him only served to prove to Kyle just how out of his mind he really was.

One quick sprint across the playground and over the low slung wire fence and he would be in main Knife territory, a ten minute walk at most from Cartman's house. And his reasoning to go gallivanting like Sir fucking Lancelot into open fire avenue? To talk sense into Cartman and get him to call a truce between the gangs.

He really was soft in the head.

To what convoluted and horrifically inaccurate dream he owed the pleasure of thinking that this was a good idea, Kyle didn't know. He barely remembered jumping from the bed like a psychopath and throwing on the clothes strung across his desk, vague memories of his brother's rant at not being able to go anywhere with his friends the only flame to his anger. He had made his way to the peeling paint of the playground railings and stood to take a breath against the wall before the reality of what he was attempting to do had even infiltrated his sleep-fogged brain.

He could not do this, Kyle shook his head, eyes darting about the shadowy playthings and surrounding trees. When the hell had Cartman ever listened to him anyway? What was he thinking, he would just waltz up to that big manor house and the leader of the fucking Knives would welcome him in and agree that he was being thick headed? Cartman would aim a gun at his skull for disrupting his fucking sleeping pattern and that was if he got past the gang members that were sure to be on alert and ordered to fire first and ask questions later.

Nope, clearly he had been sleep walking and the stupid half of his head that had got him into so many fist fights as a kid had taken charge. Bull-headed, his mother had once called him when she had had to pull him and Eric apart once again, like a trigger that could be pushed at the stupidest little thing, his temper would take off and leave smart Kyle reeling an hour later, confused and nursing a broken lip or a new bruise. It always seemed like such a good idea at the time to go in fists first, to snap and deal with the consequences later.

But he had been a kid, mobbed with hormones and conflicting opinions and a friend who made it his life's goal to goad a violent response out of him. He wasn't a kid anymore, he was nearly a man, an adult in the eyes of the law; he couldn't pull this shit anymore. For years, he had trained himself to breathe through the aggravation and face the things that bothered him with indifference or not face them at all. His patience had been shook by the incident, that was all. He just needed to take a deep breath and turn around and walk home and remember that Eric wasn't just Eric anymore. He couldn't answer violence with a snappy remark, and with his height and body build he definitely wasn't about to answer it with more violence.

Kyle took his hands from where they'd planted themselves on his face, palms against his eyes as if to block out the reality of what he had been about to do. The park was just as deserted as it had been, draped in dark shadows and looking ominous enough to back up the sudden chill that flew up Kyle's spine. He puffed his cheeks out in a sigh, tugging his hat down further as he gripped the railings and swung his legs over onto the pavement outside. A small snort of laughter left his mouth unbidden as he turned, rolling his eyes. He really needed to get his head sorted out.

Kyle turned so quickly he nearly collided with the man stood on the other side of the railing, his green eyes blowing wide and his body freezing where he stood.

"Hiya, babydoll, bit late for a walk, isn't it?"

Fuck, he knew that voice. Kyle sighed, his head tipping forward as the boy dressed in black with the tawny blonde hair leaned down to his eye level.

"Awww, why so shy, sweetie? And here I thought we were best buds what with us bein' classmates now and all."

"Knock it off, Roo."

Kyle flinched, wide eyes remaining fixed on the cracked pavement as the voice of the Goth joined his partner, heavy black boots clicking against the sidewalk as he approached from behind. Kyle wheeled around, body crouched as he glared up at the black haired youth who watched him like a wolf might watch a wounded rabbit try to hop away.

"Oh," The Goth grinned, flashing straight, white teeth and narrowing his kohl lined eyes, "do you want to fight back, then? Think you can take me on, do you?" His grin sharpened, his lanky body slinking into a basic defence stance and his fists rising. "Go on, then, fight back. Maybe you won't die the boring loser you've been in school for the past three weeks."

Kyle's stomach clenched, his legs bending and his hands lifting before his face of their own accord. He whipped forward before the Goth could open his mouth to taunt him again, snapping his fist out and connecting squarely with the taller boy's nose. The Goth's head snapped back, before bowing down to look at Kyle with murder in his eyes, a trickle of blood leaving one nostril to bleed against his pale lips.

The tawny haired gangster bellowed a laugh, loud and nerve wracking in the silence. He had moved to one side, arms raised behind his head and back to the road. "Ah, Poe," he sneered, stretching and exposing a sliver of stomach to the cold early morning air, "babydoll's got moves when it's an even fight. Hey, kid, you wanna be a Hell Raiser? Got your marking already and all, don't you? Did it scar up nice, pretty boy? You branded with Omen's mark?"

Kyle made to lash out at the smirking blonde, only for a powerful kick to his stomach to send him sprawling across the path, wheezing as he tried to breathe past the pain of his tender rib and still healing wounds. Fuck, if that didn't open a stitch or two.

His hair was gripped in long fingers, a weight settling on his lower back as his neck was craned backwards to bring him staring up at the tawny haired youth. A wicked smile had his fingers clenching, trying to find purchase against the stone ground. "Naww," the blonde purred, digging his fingers deeper into Kyle's curls and blowing a cool breath across Kyle's hot cheeks. "Don't you wanna play with me, babydoll? I just wanna see your pretty belly and that scar Kicker gave you. We don't hand them out to just anybody, y'know?"

Kyle shrieked as he was rolled to his back, a booted foot on his shoulder holding him still as those cold hands unzipped his coat and popped the buttons of his shirt with a giddy chuckle.

"Your skin's so soft, babydoll, like porcelain. You sure you're a real boy?"

A hand gripped between his legs as the blonde's weight shifted suddenly, drawing a mortified yell from Kyle as the smaller boy struggled against the footpath. There was no way in hell it was going down that road, he would sooner rip out the stitching and let himself bleed to death.

"Definitely a real boy." Was the purr of a reply as his chest and stomach were bared and a cold finger was pressed against the first, perfectly carved number six. It followed the round curve, before dancing to the second number, and the third, a piercing sting letting him know that it was that one that the stitching had been pulled on. A gentle hum had him stilling against the stone, his breath catching in his throat before the soft, wet slide of a hot tongue against the bleeding wound had him choking on his own gasp.

"W-what the fuck are you doing?"

The tawny haired youth lifted his head to grin that toothy grin, bottom lip smeared in what could only be Kyle's blood. "Y'know, that's a pretty perfect mark, babydoll. Almost like your body wanted it. You ain't owned by one of them Knife fuckers, are you?"

"Those aren't Omen's orders, Roo."

Kyle winced as the boot on his shoulder dug in harder, grinding him into the path. The one by the name of Roo glared up at the Goth with a pout. He settled back, forcing his weight on Kyle's lap with a panicked squeak from the redhead. "Omen said to see who he draws out. Ain't nobody bein' drawn out by babydoll's yellin' and we're practically on Knife turf. Do we have to kill him, Poe, I could train him up real good if Omen gave him to me."

Kyle groaned as a finger was pushed against his bleeding stomach cruelly, splitting another stitch and pressing harder until a shriek of pain fell from his open mouth and trailed off in a desperate whimper. Jesus, no, just kill me already. Don't fuck with me, don't take me back with you, just fucking kill me and be done with it.

Poe glanced down at the sobbing redhead with a sneer, forcing more weight into the leg holding the boy down and grinning at the choked murmur of pain that had the boy's eyes rolling back in his head. Pretty little thing... But he would break before they got any real fun out of him. He was much too fragile.

"You can do better, Roo," Poe growled, pulling a wicked edged knife from his trouser strap with a grin, "but you can take his mark with you if you like it so much."

Roo bounced where he sat, jolting Kyle's stomach as he gripped the blade and pressed the flat edge against the boy's pale stomach and the Hell Raiser brand that stretched from one hip to the other. Kicker always was gifted with a knife for someone so trigger-happy.

"You won't mind, will you, babydoll? After all, you're not gonna need it much with where you're going." His laugh brought Kyle's glazed eyes back to stare at him, mouth a grim line. That was it then. He was going to die. He was going to leave his parents and his little brother and there was no way he was going to be able to come back to them this time. There was no coming back from this. Kyle fought against the angry tears, chest heaving as Roo slid the flat edge of the blade once more against his stomach, before grabbing the handle with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"See you in hell, babydoll."


	9. Chapter Nine

"Babydoll? Christ, dude, where do you even get pet names like that?"

Kenny barked out a harsh laugh, swinging his right leg where he sat perched behind Stan's lean form on the playground bars, beside the wall. The blonde watched the pale goth go rigid, his hand finding the gun in his waistband so fast it almost put Gunner to shame; had said Knife not already been pointing his own pistol at the curly haired boy.

The shorter of the pair of devil dickheads was less twitchy than his eyeliner-happy friend, his head stretching back lazily to glance at Kenny and Stan before he bent forward again to whisper in the ear of whatever poor fucker was trapped beneath him.

"Hell," Kenny chuckled, slinking from the fence and tossing back the hood of his jacket to shake his fringe from his eyes, "and here I thought tonight was gonna be another borin' night of watchin' the perimeter and hopin' you pathetic sods made a decent move."

Stan grinned, catching his tongue between his teeth, his eyes hooded from the hours before hand of smoking God knew what with Wendy and Henrietta. The black haired Knife had the lazy look of one about to sink into blissful unawareness, yet the hand that held his gun was steady as stone and his pistol was so precisely pointed at the goth's head, Kenny didn't doubt that one misplaced twitch would blast his brains all over the sidewalk.

"What'cha got there, goldielocks?" Kenny toed one booted foot before the other, hands thrust into his hoody pockets as he watched the body beneath the blonde's thrash against the hard stone and try to yell something passed what was probably a hand shoved in front of his mouth.

"I only wanted to play with him a little," the blonde darted a sly look over his shoulder, grinding down against the male beneath him lest Kenny not get his not-so-subtle innuendo. "Babydoll was gonna have so much fun playin' with me too, isn't that right, babydoll?"

"M' vuck merselv!"

Kenny snorted a genuinely amused laugh. Well, that was a little high and mighty for someone pinned to the sidewalk. The blonde grinned at the black haired goth still gun to gun with Stan, his eyes narrowed in barely concealed rage and his mouth turned down in a sneer.

"Don't fuckin' play dumb, Knife," he spat, kicking his foot down in a vicious motion that had the unknown male shrieking a muffled scream of pain. "You know well who this is and Omen's gonna have him strung up in our den by his fucking ankles when he realises he means enough to draw two of you out to rescue him!"

"Y'know," Stan stood with his legs apart, his gun hand going to his head to tap the pistol against his skull in thought, "that name seems familiar. Omen... Omen... Omen... Where have I heard it before? Where, oh, where have I heard it...? Oh!" He gave a giddy laugh, eyes snapping wide and dark enough to make his face seem bizarre in the yellow cast of the street lamps. He turned to the blonde on the floor with a sharp grin before it fell from his face, his expression, when he faced the goth again, one of complete boredom. "That's right. It's the last thing your buddy said to me before I blew his cheap, red-dyed head all over the floor."

The goth let loose a scream of rage, his pale face contorting in fury as he threw himself towards Stan, forgetting the vital weapon he held in his hand and choosing instead to rip into the blue eyed boy with his bare hands. His attack was halted as soon as he fisted his hands in Stan's black hoody, an arm that belonged to neither the goth nor the Knife shooting from behind the wall to grip the curly haired boy by the throat and drag his body against the cold metal bars of the playground railing.

The male that stepped into view had the goth's struggles falling still as a shot of fear tore through him. Poe stared up into gold eyes that watched him with all the amusement of someone watching a kitten try and battle with their hand. His lips were tilted in a crooked smile, his brown hair free and loose about his shoulders. He watched the goth claw at the hand around his throat, breath coming in tight gasps until the youth's eyes rolled back and his body went limp with unconsciousness.

Eric rolled his eyes as he tossed the boy towards Stan, catching hold of the low railing and swinging his feet to the pavement the group was gathered on. He rolled his gold eyes at the sight of Gunner catching the gang member with an unbalanced grace that had both Stan and the unconscious goth sprawling down against the pavement.

"Whatever you were smokin', Gunner, get off it. Shit does nothin' for your sense of humour. Or your legs for that matter."

Kenny snickered, knocking Stan back down with his boot when the blue eyed Knife gave him the finger and tried to stand up with the goth. He turned to watch Eric peer down at the blonde still sprawled across the pavement, hiding the boy beneath him with his body. The tawny haired youth tilted his head to stare back up at Eric, before his lips spread in a delighted smile.

"Shoot, I didn't know babydoll was playing games with the big boys."

Eric crouched, golden eyes never leaving the dark eyes of the boy on the ground. The goth had pulled a gun, the goth had let his temper get the better of him and walked straight into Eric's hand, the goth was stupid enough to show fear when he realised who it was that had him by the throat. This slinky blonde was far sharper, his face an open mask of innocence and that sly little smile that played along his lips. Whoever he had trapped beneath him, the Satan worshiper had reason to believe they were an unknown chink in his armour; an amusing thought, and one Cartman would be quick to squash. There were no gaps in his armour. Not one.

"You gonna show me what you're hiding or are you gonna try and hold that position all night?"

The blonde grinned his bright and shiny grin, eyes slanting as he looked Eric up and down, a glance that had Kenny snarling and Stan's lip pulling up in a sneer. "I've held positions harder than this for far longer, Daddy. Go 'head though, take me with you and push me to my limit. It's been years since I've been challenged."

Eric quirked an eyebrow, this was new. He could honestly say he had never had a kid from another gang proposition him with two of his best men behind him before. He stood with a huff of laughter, humour lighting his eyes as his curiosity flickered from the one being pinned to the tawny blonde doing the pinning. "Fuck it," he bit off with a snap of his teeth, "go back home. Take the kid, kill the kid, I don't give a shit. The patrol was to nab whoever it was my men have been seeing stalk around our grounds but I'm happy enough taking your emo buddy and playing with you another day." He bowed his head down to offer the blonde a wicked smile, noticing with a rumble of satisfaction the confusion that flittered across the youth's eyes for the briefest second. "I'll catch you all on your lonesome, goldielocks, and by then you'll wish I had taken you tonight."

He turned on his heel, pointing Stan forward where the dark haired boy stood with the deathly-limp goth over one shoulder, his steps still uneven enough to warrant a deep-throated chuckle from Kenny. Hell, as far as Eric was concerned this night had thrown up far more than he had expected after so many patrols ending empty handed. They would walk away with another plaything to weedle information from and goldielocks could waltz on home and pander to his master's curiosity. It wouldn't do to think the main Knife was without his mercy, after all. A smirk lit his lips as the trio strode away from the tawny haired blonde and his little plaything. What was one kid in the grand scheme of things? Nothing to him.

An exaggerated sigh halted Eric's steps, his eyes flicking to the side to listen to the sound of a body making its way to its feet and the panicked sobs from a mouth still covered by a hand. The roar of a car had Eric bringing his gun from his belt and spinning on the spot.

The tawny haired blonde stood before him, arms clasped around his victim whose tear stained cheeks were pink, his green eyes wide as he tried to yell from behind the fingers sealing his mouth shut. A sweep of red hair, tousled and dark fell over his forehead as the blonde dragged a hand down the 666 mark etched into his stomach.

Eric's eyes flew open, one hand lifting to shield his sight from the sudden flare of headlights by the end of the street as an engine was revved and the squeal of tires on tarmac filled the early morning air.

"Well, if you don't want him, I'll definitely be keeping him. Don't you think he'd look just darlin' screamin' 'till his pretty little face turned blue?" High pitched laughter had Kyle struggling anew, his eyes desperate and pleading as he glared into Eric's own. The car swerved to a stop beside them, the door swinging open so fast, Eric had only begun to take a step forward when Kyle was pulled inside and the tawny haired blonde offered him a sailor's salute before darting inside himself.

It took off with a metallic scream, tearing up the street and rounding a corner until there was nothing left to follow with his eyes, the sound still ringing in his ears as he tried to still the boil of his blood and the anger that dotted his vision. Eric snarled, turning to make his way back to where Kyle and Stan stood like frozen statues, their mouths open and their eyes glazed with shock and fear. Fear of bad things they were all too familiar with... Bad things that could and would happen to Kyle. Eric pushed them both forward towards home, teeth bared.

"Fuckin' Jew."

###

Kyle sat frozen, his chest heaving with each in-drawn breath and the pain of his stomach a distant thing amidst the fear that clawed at his throat like a demon. His hands were held clutched in Roo's iron-like fingers behind his back, squashed between his own spine and the Hell Raiser's leather shirt. Eric had left him. Jesus, Eric had fucking left him. His breaths came more jaggedly, tears squeezing from behind closed lids as he tried to calm the panicked jerks of his body. Had he been hoping the blonde would just get bored of him and let him go? He had seen the surprise on Cartman's fucking face when he had turned around and realised it was Kyle. Would it have been okay, then, if it had been some other kid?

Kyle groaned, hissing between clenched teeth as he tried to cool the burning of his lungs. Fuck, his lungs were going to explode. He needed to calm down, needed to breathe. Why the fuck couldn't he just fucking breathe? It was a panic attack, for Christ's sake, not a bullet to the lung! His head tilted back, mouth opening like a fish out of water, he could barely hear the voices around him, his eyes remaining shut lest he come face to face with someone who would send him skittering over the edge.

Roo loosened his grip, dark eyes slanting in the darkness of the car as he watched the little redhead struggle, his body slumping as each breath grew shorter than the one before it.

"Shit, Kicker, I don't think he can breathe."

Clyde glanced at the pair in the rear-view mirror, taking in Kyle's paling cheeks and blood stained front with a sneer to his mouth. "The fuck did you do, Roo, nick his fuckin' lung? He sounds like he's fuckin' dyin'."

Roo snarled, kicking the back of the driver's seat before pushing the redhead to lie down against the backseat. "You think I can't follow Omen's orders? That was all on Poe, man. We were to rough him up, put on a show, draw out whatever big up had him tagged and take off. It was fuckin' Poe that went all psycho and tried to attack 'em. Stupid bastard fell into their arms, but we didn't damage the goal, just like he told us not to." Roo dragged a hand through his hair, tilting the boy's chin upwards and clasping his hands to massage the redhead's still heaving chest. "He was right, y'know. It's the fuckin' top dog that's got this little puppy tagged and bagged. I hope to fuck Omen knows what he's doin'."

Clyde grinned, darting a look at the dark skinned boy that sat in the passenger seat, his near black eyes trained with a look of almost consternation on the petrified redhead. "Omen has his dramatic flair. Ain't up to us to deny him that. He knew this one was special just like he knows that Knife boss is gonna go straight to the only lead he has on us. Pip." He turned a sharp corner, drawing a growl from Roo and clenching his jaw. "Squeak knows to expect to be nabbed in the next few days, he knows we've got eyes on him all the time and nothin's gonna happen to him while we've got the Knives pretty little toy. Not that he knows who that is..."

"Not that this little meet and greet will be worth shit if babydoll keels over in fright before Omen can get a chance to see the Knife boss and negotiate for Pip back." Roo snarled, watching as the redhead's eyes rolled back in his skull, his skinny chest arching in a feeble attempt to gasp in even a little oxygen. The blonde growled, his fingers pinching the boy's nose before he covered pink lips with his own and blew hard. The boy beneath him all but choked on the sudden air, breath leaving him in a barking cough before Roo covered his mouth to blow in again. How the fuck else was he supposed to keep the thing breathing?

Clyde turned his gaze to Token, the black eyed Hell Raiser's gaze still pinned on the redhead as he let loose a desperate whine, pushing Roo away from him even as he clutched at the vivid red stitching of his stomach.

"We've never had a message live before."

Clyde grunted, pulling into the lot they had come to call their own and dragging the car to a stop. "We've never had the fuckin' bad luck to nab someone belongin' to the other boss before. Fuck, even if I wanted to finish the job now, we couldn't. We kill him and Squeak is as good as dead on that tall fucker's turf." He threw a glance over his shoulder, dark eyes locking with a shade of familiar green and drawing a petrified squeak from the redhead. He grinned, nice to know he was remembered.

"Miss me, kitten?"

"Kyle, jackass!" the smaller boy hissed in response, eyes livid as he tried to kick against Roo grabbing his hands once more, "my name is Kyle. Not fucking Babydoll, not Kitten, not whatever you sick fucks wanna call me. You call me by my fuckin' name!"

Token reared back with a roar of laughter, white teeth flashing against dark skin as he stepped from the car and helped Roo pull the fiery redhead from the backseat. "Yep, he's still got spirit. Thought for a minute there, Poe had kicked it outta him. Probably safer if you keep that mouth in check, Kyle, Poe wasn't the only one who wanted your head on a platter after what your buddies did to Pete."

Kyle opened his mouth to yell more profanities until something soft and dark was suddenly wrapped around his eyes, his world turning black and his bravado failing as he was marched across hard packed gravel and into what could only be Hell Raiser territory. His steps faltered going up concrete steps, the size and style of those unfamiliar to him. Was he still in South Park? Christ, the car ride hadn't been that long, had it? His sense of timing was off, memory scattered with black dots of panic, muffled talk and fighting against a mouth on his own that had been trying... Trying to help him?

Fuck, what was going on?

He stumbled across the ledge of a doorway, shoes sinking into soft carpet and hands turning him towards a front room before the blindfold was whipped from his head and he blinked against the dull lighting of a few scattered lamps and a blazing fire. A man stood before it, older than Kyle by at least five or so years and dressed in low slung leather pants, knee high boots and a brazen red vest top that showed freely the pitch black runic tattoos that spiraled and cut from both his shoulders to his elbows, the familiar 666 like a well wrapped beacon in red ink across one sinewy bicep. He turned and Kyle shrunk back against whoever it was that held him upright, lips clamping shut on whatever stupid insult that had been about to leave his mouth. If Eric Cartman was a lion in shades of gold and bronze, this man was a snake. His pale face was sharp, misleading in its beauty as he freed pale fingers form jet black locks that hung to his collar and strode forward, his bright, scarlet eyes both eerie and unnatural as they pinned Kyle to the spot.

The redhead glared up at him as his chin was caught between slender fingers and his face lifted to cast light on his tear stained cheeks. Those red eyes swept across his face, dragging across his skin like something physical before landing with a sardonic little grin on the still bleeding Hell Raiser mark branded across his lower stomach. Kyle bit his tongue as a hand cradled against that mark, smudging the blood in a mockery of a gentle, loving caress before those unnatural eyes locked with his once more. A smile spread across his pale face and when he opened his mouth, it was to let loose a voice that curled Kyle's stomach maddeningly.

"Hello, sweetheart."


	10. Chapter Ten

The plate crashed against the pale yellow walls of the kitchen, scattering broken pieces of ceramic across the tiled floor and wooden table and narrowly missing the head of the man stood beside the open kitchen door.

"You fucking promised me, Kenny!"

Butters hurled another piece of ware grabbed from the soapy dishwater that filled the sink, his fingers slipping on the wet cup and sending it smashing against the floor instead of at his intended target. The blonde heaved a broken sob, his wet hands tangling in his tousled blonde hair as he pressed his legs against the cupboards behind him and sank to the cold floor.

Kenny watched him, his own blue eyes narrowed in guilt and shame, an emotion he hadn't seen from his partner in a long, long time.

"I'm sorry, Butters... I'm so sorry. Fuck, we didn't even know it was Kyle 'till it was too late."

Butters pressed a hand to his heart, one still clutched against his skull as if trying to shove away the words Kenny had had to tell him. Kyle had been taken. Kyle was with the other gang and his life had been threatened, again. Because of them. Because this new gang had gotten it into their heads that Kyle was a Knife.

"You promised me he'd be safe." Butters' voice was a whisper, his face swinging up to glare at the blonde now kneeling in front of him, "you promised me ye wouldn't get him involved after the first time, Kenny."

Kenny's face was pained, his mouth pulling down. "Kyle's always had a way of falling into our plans, ever since we were kids. Trust me, Butters, we'll get him back. We won't let those bastards touch him."

"And how you gonna do that, huh?" Butters snarled, shoving Kenny aside and struggling to his feet, hissing when he cut his palm on a forgotten piece of broken ware. He ignored Kenny's voice calling his name, his blue eyes bright with tears as he made his way upstairs, passed the softly decorated main hall and into the back bedroom that served as a guest room, all bright and clean in a way only a room never slept in could be.

Butters eyed the walk in wardrobe, swinging open the mirrored door and flinging aside the old clothes and filler outfits that hung innocently until he found himself face to face with the back panel. A subtle flick of his fingers wedged beneath the top right corner in a place only he and Kenny knew of had the panel popping free, the heavy wood dropping to the floor and rattling his stance. He steadied himself with a wince, catching the handle of the door hidden behind the wardrobe and pushing his whole body against it to shift the heavy weight forward enough to slide through.

It opened into darkness and a face full of clothes draped with the scent of dust and neglect. Butters tossed them aside, clicking the latch on the second wardrobe's door and striding out into a room coloured pale blue and white.

"Eric!" He yelled, voice unsteady despite the grim set of his mouth

"In here, Princess."

Butters followed the sound to the master bedroom, eyes catching on the sight of Eric sat on his bed, his balcony window thrown wide open and an unlit cigarette clutched between the long fingers of one hand. Butters clenched his fists, a tremor making his gait unsteady as he strode forward and lifted a hand to slap Eric hard across his cheek. The force of his whole body went behind it, leaving a print that bloomed scarlet instantly and snapped Eric's head to one side, though the Knife leader didn't so much as twitch in shock.

"Christ, Butters! It wasn't Boss' fucking doing!"

The small blonde ignored his boyfriend's voice from where Kenny had followed him from their own house. His pale eyes stayed locked with Eric's, his shoulders heaving with the force of his breathing. "This is your fault. If he ends up dead... That's your fault, Eric."

"I know, Princess."

The calm response had Butters almost regretting the vivid mark he had caused across Boss' face, even though he knew it would be gone come the following morning. He sniffed an almost sob, arms coming around to clutch across his chest as Kenny stepped up behind him. "What're we gonna do? Jesus, he could be d-dead already. He c-could b-be..."

Kenny's hands gripped his upper arms as tears clouded his vision, his nails digging into his own skin. This was as much his fault as it was Eric's and Kenny's and Stan's. He should have fought for more protection on Kyle, should have got into the boy's head more about how dangerous this game was. He should have sent that Pip boy running, not given in to Kyle's silly attempts to make everyone be friends! How did Butters know it wasn't Pip who had brought Kyle out onto the streets at this hour of the morning? The sky had just lightened to grey-blue, his favourite time of the day, a time he indulged himself with tidying the house or experimenting with a new recipe and this was the way he had to greet it? With the thought that his best friend had been assaulted again? Not only that, but assaulted because the stupid new gang knew he meant something to them. He wasn't even a Knife!

"Kyle isn't dead, Butters," Eric stood slowly, golden eyes sharp as he walked to the balcony, flicking over the few Knives ready to pounce on the goth they had seen Stan drag into his house only an hour before, eager for blood and answers. "And he's not going to die."

"How do you know that, Boss?" Butters whispered with a wrinkle of his pert nose, leaning back against the solid strength Kenny never failed to offer him.

Eric's eyes were slanted, his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and his shirt discarded for a vivid purple vest. "'Cause they don't want him dead. They want a chance to say hello."

Kenny made a noise from behind him and Butters frowned, "I don't understand."

"They know we've been tryin' to tail that Pip guy from your school, just like we knew they were skulking around our turf." Kenny growled, head shaking his messy hair into his eyes. "They weren't tryna play hide and seek, they were following someone too and we were too focused on grabbin' them to realise it was Kyle they were tailing. A trade. They have Kyle, they'll expect us to collect Pip from the school and he'll lead us to where we go next. A meet up. Looks like their leader's sick of crawling around like a shadow, he wants to size Boss up."

"You mean Pip was in on it?" Butters hissed, shaking free of Kenny to follow Eric when the taller man swung around from the balcony and took off down the hall, his boots a steady thump against the staircase. "That two-faced, doofus was tryna get Kyle caught all along!"

"Perhaps," Eric cracked his knuckles, kicking open a press in the hallway and tucking a gun beneath his waistband before slinging on a black jacket, "or perhaps he's a good boy and follows orders without all the information. Doesn't matter. Go home, relax, take a long bath and get ready Princess," Eric nodded to Kenny who sighed and left through the open front door, no doubt to wake up a certain goth who wasn't part of the trading game. Butters glanced up to find Eric popping a cigarette between his lips, his eyes hard.

"I'm takin' you to school today."

###

The glass was clenched between his fingers, his green eyes locked on the milk that sloshed within because of the shake in his hand. His backside was planted in a high backed armchair, his legs kept firmly together by a rope around his ankles but otherwise, he was unharmed. His bleeding was padded with medical gauze, his red hair combed back from his face by snow white fingers until it sat with some semblance of order against his shoulders. Kyle was on the verge of losing his mind.

He took a breath, bringing the rim of the glass to his lips and darting his tongue out to taste the cold milk. Could you taste poison? Would they live by the same principles as Eric and think poisoning someone beneath them when they could oh so easily end his life with a gun?

He sighed, tipping the glass back and clenching his eyes shut. He ran his tongue across his top lip as a hand rigid with tension brought the glass down on the ebony painted side table beside him. He blew out a fragile breath, eyes again going to the man that had yet to leave him alone in the God knows how many hours it had been since he had been dragged here. The black out curtains were drawn still, hiding the outside world and the fire was kept constantly blazing, keeping the room perpetually frozen in one chilling time frame.

"You're very pretty."

Kyle grimaced, fingers digging into his sides as he crossed his arms across his torso and tried to stare down the gang boss by the name of Omen. It was impossible. The name fit him like a glove, his unnatural red eyes unwavering and deceptively soft beneath his shaggy black hair. He sat perched on the chair one of his men had pulled in front of Kyle, his thighs spread and his elbows resting on said thighs as though there existed no more comfortable position. He had spoken only once since his greeting, and that had been to instruct the tall brunette by the name of Kicker to "take Squeak out the back door and keep your eyes open." That had been at least an hour ago, or less, and Kyle had all but jumped out of his skin at the words, fully convinced he would be taken out back and shot. But no, whoever this Squeak was, it wasn't him.

Kyle didn't reply, his mouth twisting in one corner as he tried to look anywhere but at Omen. The man chuckled, drawing a frown but no other response from the quaking redhead.

"Is it your pretty face that has him wanting you, or is there a special skill you're hiding from us? Not a fighter, naturally, you're more petite than my Squeak. Do you bend as prettily as you panic?"

"Fuck you!"

The words were snarled from his lips before he could think on them, and what the consequences of saying them to Eric had almost been. This boss merely smiled a wickedly sharp smile and studied Kyle anew, his red eyes sliding over the redhead's exposed torso and scuffed jeans like something physical. "Is it your temper that draws him? So perfectly designed to be conquered and still you put up a fight, you must be a demon in a darkened room."

"Look," Kyle huffed a breath, fear a feather-light touch against his heart as he turned livid eyes on Omen, "I don't know what you're talking about or who you think I'm whoring myself out to, but you got the facts all wrong. I'm just the stupid fucker who seems to always make himself an easy target for your followers."

Omen's eyes lit with something dangerously close to genuine amusement, his smile a fraction less terrifying as he studied Kyle's pinched features. "Indeed?"

Kyle snorted, eyeing the closed door for the thousandth time. There were men behind it, he knew. Even if he could get Omen to focus on something else for a minute and loosen his bonds, he would never make it passed the doorway. Why was he even thinking of escape? It was obvious these... thugs believed him to be a part of the Knives. They would kill him like they had tried to kill every Knife they'd crossed paths with since their arrival in South Park. It was just his luck that their leader wanted to bat him around like a cat with a mouse first; just his luck that he would die in the name of some stupid gang he had run from at first chance. God, what was it about Eric fucking Cartman that drew him into the older boy's schemes like a child? He didn't even have to play a part anymore, simply wait to fall into the open net Cartman had crafted specially for him.

And still... Was there not that tiny glimmer of stupid hope in his chest that the stupid fuck would find him and show him the hostile hospitality he had gotten that first time around? His fingers clenched against his ruined shirt, lips paling. Was there not a little bit of him that was silently praying those gold eyes were staring him down instead of ruby red. Christ, what was the matter with him?

"You won't be harmed, you know."

Green eyes laden with unshed tears snapped up to stare at Omen, the leader of the Hell Raisers standing with an erotic stretch that showed off his pale midriff. His lidded eyes darted down to look at Kyle, lips still splayed in that small smile.

The redhead snorted, rolling his eyes. "Said the wolf to lamb."

Soft laughter had him shuddering before his vision was suddenly filled with the sight of Omen bent over to look him in the eye, the boss' pale hands braced on the arms of the seat and his nose inches from Kyle's own. It drew a sound of fright from the boy's throat that had Omen humming.

"Sweet, little lamb. This wolf is well fed and wishes only to meet the Alpha of another pack. His precious Omega will remain untouched in both virtue and body, as I expect my dear Squeak will remain. The Knife Boss is no fool. If he wants his little fire cracker back unharmed, he will not lay a finger on my Pip."

Kyle's eyes grew round, his face losing what little colour it had left. "Pip?"

Omen grinned, flashing perfectly straight teeth. "My Pip."

Kyle groaned, "You're Damien."

Omen drew back, red eyes widening in the slightest before he quirked a dark eyebrow and rolled his eyes. "You are clearly a bad influence on my Pip. He would have never spilled secrets before meeting you. But so be it, once Pip is happy, I am happy and your friendship makes little difference in the grand scheme of things. Keep your study sessions, little lamb, but I am always watching." He tapped the bridge of his nose before tweaking Kyle's in a gesture that was almost affectionate. Fuck, what was going on?

"No!" Kyle yelped as Damien stood back, his head shaking, "no, you don't understand. Car... Boss doesn't give a shit about me! I'm just a kid from his past, he'd gun me down himself if he thought I was worth the bullet. Please, Christ, let me go, he'll kill Pip!"

Damien's eyes narrowed, his head shaking in a sad little move. When he raised his blood red eyes once more, it was in contemplation. "Oh, sweetheart," he sighed, turning to glance at the clock on the mantelpiece that he had swiveled away from Kyle's point of view. "You're still alive after everything... He fucking adores you."

###

"You suck, Pip, you're a bad person."

The shorter blonde sniffled, his pale eyes bright with tears and his hands pulling on Butters' crossed arms in a desperate plea.

"I didn't know it was Kyle! Heavens, Butters, he is the only friend I have. I would never put my pal through this! Omen isn't going to hurt him, I swear, oh if I had known that it was Kyle who..."

Kenny ground his fingers against his temples, head bowed where he sat in the passenger seat and pleading silently that his boyfriend show a modicum of mercy.

"It doesn't matter that this was planned and Kyle won't be hurt! It wasn't planned with him, was it? He thought he was going to die! Might still do! Not to mention it was your buddies who cut him up in the first place!"

The smaller blonde's wail of regret pierced Kenny's skull, snapping his patience so swiftly that he had turned and pushed the muzzle of his gun against the green eyed boy's forehead before he had completely taught the motion through. The abrupt silence and terror in Pip's wide eyes had him grinning before the car swerved and he was thrown hard against the side window.

"Fuckin' knock it off, Killer! You want them to go and slit Kyle's throat in front of us?" Stan snarled, blue eyes dark as he took another swift turn, following the sleek red car in front of them that held Boss, Legs, Red and Ghost. He darted a glance in the rear-view mirror, grunting when he counted the three or four Knife cars tailing them. "This isn't a fuckin' tea party. This Omen might want to play all swap-a-student to meet Boss, but if his little trophy wife shows up dead, then he's not gonna be inclined to play softball anymore, is he? Use your fuckin' brain."

"I would if his voice wasn't going through it!" Kenny murmured back, throwing a glare over his shoulder that had Butters smacking him on the back of the head. He gaped at his partner, mouth dropping open. "Princess!"

"Don't you Princess me, Killer! I'm still mad at you, all of you! This might be a game to ye but it's not for Kyle. And like it or not, Pip does stand up for Kyle in school which is a whole lot more than you both do! Some best friends."

Ouch. Kenny grimaced, hanging his head and catching Stan heave a sigh out of the corner of his eye. Butters was harsh, but his words rang true. When was the last time he and Stan had been there to stand up for Kyle? Been a friend to him beyond just meeting him for lunch when it was convenient for them? Even after the shit hit the fan and the Knives' name become a thing of blood, murder and fear, Kyle had never cast them aside completely. Butters was right. This wasn't something they could just smile and walk away from. Whatever truce Boss and Omen came to today, there was no way it could end in Kyle just going back to his old life. Their friend needed them, even if he didn't want the drama that came with them.

"I really am sorry, you know," Pip's voice whispered from the back seat, his body tucked against the leather and his tear-stained face staring out the tinted window. "I never thought for a second Kyle would have anything to do with the whole gang thing, he was just so outspoken about how silly it was."

Kenny glanced at the kid, eyes catching on Pip's hands where they turned in his lap, thumbs rubbing against his palms as if to soothe himself. The blonde had been like a living doll since they had picked him up, silent and accepting when Eric had caught him by the shoulder before he could meld with the crowds and pointed him instead towards the red car parked outside the school grounds. The sight was one that would have gossip mills in South Park rabid for more information, the students frozen stiff with disbelief and fear at the sight of Eric Cartman leading Pip away and settling him inside a car that looked more expensive than some of their houses. It was only when Butters had turned on him and demanded how he could do such a thing to Kyle that the mask had cracked and the boy had begun to wail.

"Alright, alright, you're his friend, I get it," Kenny grit his teeth, "where did you tell Boss to go anyway? Feels like we've been drivin' for half an hour."

"Because you have been," Pip scooted forward, eyeing the other blonde warily before gripping the back of the driver's seat and earning himself a curious stare from Stan. "I'm not to say where we've been living but we are almost near the meeting point. It's quite a large factory, one of many South Park seems to have left behind in favour of more profitable work, though it is surrounded by a large open parking lot that Omen believed would offer both... groups some sense of space, I suppose?"

Stan snorted, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. "Honey, I'll have a sense of space when my buddy's in this car with me and we're as far away from your Omen as we can get. We're headed towards the ceramic knick-knack factory, remember that one that was meant to take off when we were thirteen, Killer? What was it shut it down again? Eight... Nine deaths from unsafe machinery?"

"Ten if you include Garrison jumping from the rafters 'cause he was high on that new Bamboo shit." Kenny barked a laugh, Stan slapping the wheel and joining him. "Fuck, how could you forget that?"

Pip simply sank back into the leather seat slowly, shaking his head and rubbing the tears from his eyes. Butters watched him with a sad pull to his mouth, before reaching across the empty seat to twine his fingers with the shorter blondes'. He quirked his lip in a soft smile when Pip squeezed back, green eyes still full of apologies. "You get used to the sense of humour."

Pip nodded, biting his lip as he turned to stare out the window once more. "I know."


	11. Chapter Eleven

Kyle hissed, baring his teeth in a silent growl as his knees hit the concrete hard, the sudden drop sending a jolt of pain through his midsection. He kicked out at the hand that reached to grab him and haul him back to his feet, grinning when the sound of something popping met his ears and the hand withdrew with a snarl of pain.

"You're not playing fair, kitten."

Kyle bit the arm that came around his front, though it did little to halt the taller man in his efforts to drag Kyle to his feet. The redhead dropped his body, forcing his weight down until he was sat on the concrete once more with a huff of aggravation from the dark haired gang member.

The lot was empty, eerily quiet despite the rumbling of the few cars and the laughter that came from the men watching as Kicker tried to haul the wild eyed redhead to his feet. Kyle had been an issue since arrival, already at fault for the bite mark on Roo's jaw and the bloody nose Token was sporting from an impressive headbutt. The pair stood to one side, eyeing him where he seethed on the rough ground with no small amount of trepidation. For something so small, Kyle was a goddamn nuisance.

"Leave him where he is, Kicker, ain't no one gonna complain if he's not standin' up. He's probably used to bein' on his knees."

Green eyes narrowed on the unknown man that jeered the comment, much to his comrade's amusement. He bared his teeth, bottom lip still stained with the blood he had spilled when Roo had come at him from the front to bind his hands.

"Oh ho, watch his face! Damn, Beast, sleep with one eye open, the wee one's gonna go for your throat!"

Kyle ignored them, lashing out with one foot when Kicker got too close until the man gave up with a roll of his eyes and moved to stand by Roo and Token. They could go to hell, the lot of them. And their damned leader, the lunatic. He turned to watch Omen lounge against one of the nearby car bonnets, his bare arms behind his head as though enjoying the weak amount of sun that filtered through the clouds. Fuck, he was insane. He had to be insane. As if Eric wouldn't just put a bullet in Pip's brain and go about his day. Fuck, even if Stan and Kenny tried to come to his rescue, this was not going to end well. There was no way this could end well.

The roar of a car engine had his head snapping up, his mouth parting as the cars pulled up, the music of one blaring loud enough to have the ground beneath Kyle's backside vibrating. There were five of them, two more than Omen had brought. Kyle watched them slide to a stop close enough that he could almost see the figures behind those tinted screens. The silence was pressing on him now without the jeers and taunts of Omen's men, the music vanishing with the click of an engine switching off. Kyle brought his knees up before his chest, his chin lifting as a stubborn scowl plastered itself across his face. He would not be thankful for Eric Cartman. He would not be thankful for Eric fucking Cartman like some fucking damsel in distress.

And yet, when the sleek front door of the silver jaguar swung opened and long legs wrapped in black slacks stepped from the car; Kyle felt something in his chest loosen. Eric slammed the door shut behind him, crisp white vest showing off the lean build of muscle as he stood to full height. His bronze hair was sleek where it swept across his forehead, poker straight to his shoulders as golden eyes locked on where Kyle had plonked himself.

"That better not be his fucking blood on his chin."

Despite himself, Kyle felt his lips pull in a grin, stomach cinching in something close to amusement as Roo threw him a filthy glare. Omen slid from where he had situated himself, sinewy body loose as he strode to where Kyle stood, his pale hand reaching down to ruffle the redhead's curls and freeze Kyle's amusement to ice.

"Why of course not. Your little lamb is patched up, safe and sound."

Eric's stare went to Omen, his face blanking as he sized the other leader up. In truth, it looked as though one good wrestling match would answer the question as to who was the strongest. Eric was taller than half the men of South Park, a nerve wracking six foot seven that had made him the nastiest bully amongst the younger years when his growth spurt kicked in at fourteen. Of course, that had been before he had learned the real meaning of intimidation and power; that is wasn't found in petty squabbles and the tears of little kids who meant nothing. He was broad as he had always been across the shoulders, tracking down to a now slender waist and a near hidden amount of arm and stomach muscle that he showed off only when necessary.

Omen, on the other hand, was the shorter of the pair, his scarlet eyes lifting up to stare with no small amount of curiosity into Eric's golden glare. His body was slim, sleek, the gentle bulk of his arms his only redeeming amount of strength. But, it wasn't all down to power of the body, was it? Omen was slick, cunning in a devious way Eric thrived on. Intelligence was keen in his eyes and confidence streamed from him in the way he moved before his men, feet planted shoulder width apart to stare up at the Knife Boss. Omen was a man who acted as though the future was one step slower than he himself was, his plans already worked out in advance.

"I do hope you were sweeter to my Pip than you were to your own lamb." Kyle's attention slammed to focus, his eyes huge as they watched Eric and Omen stare each other down, neither giving ground nor advancing the five or so feet that separated them. The redhead felt panic bubble too close to the surface when those red eyes turned on him and the meaning behind Omen's words clicked. "He is so neglected. It really is a shame... To waste something so pretty..."

Snickering chuckles had his face burning pink, his mouth twisting as Eric's golden gaze narrowed on him. As if he would let Eric touch him. As if he would surrender to that stupid fucker, the stupid, stupid bastard that always got him into these messes and toyed with his life and... had saved him. Had come here to get him out. Kyle turned his gaze away, face turning down in a scowl. Fuck, what was the matter with him? What did it matter that Eric was trying to save him? What did it matter if he got out of this alive, that was Eric fucking Cartman! His childhood tormentor, the guy that had called him names and drove his family into the dirt and bullied him just to get a reaction, a fight, an emotion from an otherwise... indifferent... friend. Eric had been a friend.

"Kyle!"

The redhead jumped, his eyes blurring for a second before fixing on the figure running towards him. The blonde was caught by an arm around his waist, pulling him close to a taller body that hushed him. "Be still, Pip!"

"Butters?"

The two blondes looked up at him from behind the familiar figures of Stan and Kenny. Butters' blue eyes were filled with panic, his arms clamped tight around Pip's midsection and his breathing staggered as Omen's red gaze caught on him.

"My, my," the Hell Raiser raked his gaze down the pair of them, before a smirk lifted his lips. "the Knives do collect such pretty toys. Don't they, boys?"

Kyle cringed at the loud laughter, the catcalls that had Butters sliding up behind Kenny, a reluctant Pip struggling against him. The redhead winced, the look on Butters' face was one of undiluted fear, his pale skin pasty and his legs trembling. Kenny stood firm before them, his gun tapping lazily against his hip as Stan stretched by his side, teeth glinting, moving until the blondes were hidden from view.

"Princess is a bit shy, how's about we just take our buddy back and give you the pipsqueak and you fuck on out of our town?"

The voice that had spoken came from the first car and Kyle blinked at the sight of Wendy perched on the hood, her legs decked in leather and crossed in some imitation of a meditative stance. Her black hair was pulled high in a ponytail, her smile bright and easy and looking for all the world like she had just invited them home for apple pie.

Omen bent double with laughter, his men following his lead and some lifting their guns free of where they had stowed them. The air was alight with tension, though Wendy kept her silken smile and Stan and Kenny had yet to move from where they stood sheltering Butters from the eyeline of the other gang. There were others, stood beside open car doors, holding back, their expressions almost livid with boredom though Kyle could only recognise a few scattered faces.

"Or," Omen chuckled, stepping back to where Kyle sat, before drawing a gun and pointing the muzzle against the side of Kyle's head. "I could just blow his head off."

The laughter hiked up a notch, Roo giggling like an asylum patient where he stood to one side and the men falling against car doors with the force of their chuckles. Hilarious. They thought this was hilarious. They were all mad... He was going to die for a madman.

"Damien!"

That voice, shrieked in panic, had the laughter stilling in its tracks, some men choking on the sudden stop. The gun withdrew and Kyle released a broken sob as he glanced up to find Pip holding perfectly still, his green eyes blown wide and his blonde hair free of its usual precise bob. Around his slender neck was a vice like grip, holding him an inch from the hard ground as his legs swung uselessly in the air. The hand was connected to an orange sweatshirt, the arm outstretched as Kenny locked dark blue eyes on Omen and squeezed.

Pip gasped, pale hands pulling at the grip around his throat as his legs swung harder, no sound finding purchase in his throat beyond a ragged breath. For one shrill moment, Kyle believed the man would allow it to happen; before Omen's eyes darkened and his hands lifted away from where Kyle sat, his gun propped back in its holder.

Pip dropped back to the ground with a groan, chest heaving as he turned on his side, his green eyes locking with Kyle's.

"Alright," Omen sighed, rolling his eyes and grabbing Kyle by the scruff to plant him on his feet, "clearly, my jokes are a little underappreciated today. Your little lamb had my word I wouldn't harm him, right, Kyle?"

Kyle winced as the flash of a blade swung into view, only for his hands to go slack as the bindings were cut loose. He jerked, eyes snapping upwards to Omen's slanted red eyes. His mouth parted in a frightened gasp, his gaze swiveling to see Pip being picked up by Eric and set back on his feet, the blonde shaking but looking no worse for wear. Wouldn't a proper grip have left marks on his neck? Fuck, was this all a joke to them?

"Is this just a game?" Kyle barely whispered the words, green eyes blurring as Omen gripped his arm in a gentle caress and led him forward, "what the hell are we to you, puppets? Pawns?"

Omen's men chuckled, their spines straightening as Eric moved forward with Pip. Omen glanced down at him, his thumb swiping over Kyle's arm almost sweetly. "Poor little lamb... So neglected... So confused. You're no pawn, Kyle. You are a queen."

Kyle grit his teeth, raging at the title as he swung his gaze around to Omen, only to find that red stare focused instead on Eric as the man pushed Pip forward into Omen's outstretched arm, before a solid warmth wrapped around his own waist and he was pulled slowly against a much taller body. Green eyes stayed locked on that sly smile, even as Eric moved them back and Omen wrapped his arms around Pip's waist. The Hell Raiser leader chuckled, rubbing his cheek against the Pip's unruly hair.

"And what's a king without his queen?"

###

Kyle was sitting in Kenny's lap.

Had he been in his right mind, he was certain he would have known exactly what was wrong with that particular situation, but as it was, at the moment, it seemed perfectly alright. The blonde's arms were loped around his waist and back, fingering the bandage the Hell Raiser's had given him as the redhead's head rested on his shoulder, trembling legs straddling Kenny's hips and green eyes wide and unblinking.

Something damp, cloth-like wiped against his lower lip, taking with it the taste of blood and the dried out feeling that had been bugging some part of his mind. It swiped beneath his eyes, wiping away the tear tracks he was barely aware of.

The car engine was a gentle hum in the background, the radio switched off as Eric gripped the wheel and steered them back to safe grounds, their territory. Their territory... because South Park had just been split in two between the Knives and the Hell Raisers; a peace pact that would, for the moment, put a stop to the panic and the terror and the inability to walk to the shop on your own in the middle of the day. For that small amount of peace, he supposed he should be grateful. He had been attacked, yes, kidnapped, sort of, but all as a part of some bigger scheme that he had had no clue about. Was this what having old friends in high places led to? He couldn't even be a nobody now because of his history with the Knives. He was one of the Knives and so not one of the Knives, so apart from their plans and their methods and their history despite their loyalty to him as friends that he was worse than an outsider.

He sighed, pushing away Butters' hand where it wiped again. "M'fine, Butters."

"They didn't hurt you, Kyle, did they? Because it would be just like those stinkin' Satanists to not stick by the rules..."

"What rules?" Kyle groaned, bracing his forehead against Kenny's shoulder with a sob. "What rules..."

"Easy, Kyle," Kenny grunted, shifting his friend closer and dragging a hand through red curls, Kyle's eyes sliding shut despite the green tinge of his cheeks. His breathing evened in the silence, eyelashes fluttering until they remained closed and Kyle succumbed to the rest he so badly needed. Kenny sighed, dropping his head back to stare up at the car ceiling. That had gone better than expected.

"Well," Wendy smiled, clasping her hands together quietly after peeking back at the snoozing redhead, "that went better than expected."

Eric cast her a dry glare, before catching sight of Kyle in the rear-view mirror, his mouth turning down in a grimace. Fuck the land he had lost and the drop it would cause in sales and protection fees. It wasn't as if Omen had asked for a particularly profitable section of town anyway, the fucker had only wanted to warrant a little slice of consequence-free living for himself and his gang. Any more problems he created could now be dealt with. Eric was a big boy, he wasn't averse to sharing if it meant keeping his enemies close. But Kyle...

His gaze flickered again to the Jew, his pink mouth parted with sleep and normality returning to his colour beneath the freckles that littered the bridge of his nose. Had they always been that subtle? Pinpricks of the palest peach that almost blended with his skin. His dark lashes cast shadows against his cheeks, the thought of the scarring laceration beneath the boy's t-shirt tightening the grip Eric held on the wheel. Sharing land he could be content with. But he would not share Kyle, even if he had to tie the little Jew to his living room couch and cart him to and from his stupid fucking lessons in that shithole of a school. A growl spilled from Eric's lips as Kyle whimpered suddenly in the backseat, the smaller boy's mouth pulling down with his memories. Erick shook his head.

He would not share Kyle.


	12. Chapter Twelve

They tore at him, invisible claws and icy talons that trailed against his skin and raked down his spine. In the blackness of his mind, they were all that existed. Nothing met his panicked gaze, sightless, no degree of light, no ounce of filter that would take away from the snatching hands and tormenting fingernails that grazed his skin and seemed to tear strips from his very soul. He was alone here with these hands, their owner's faceless and nameless. His voice was taken from him, mouth open in a silent scream, desperate to pull himself from the ghoulish grip. Nothing, he was as nothing as the nothingness that surrounded him; lacking in body save for the skin that existed only to be tormented. Lacking in voice and sight and touch beyond the cruel pain of having his unseen flesh torn to ribbons. There was no friendly face to fall back on in this darkness, no hope of rescue... Nothing...

Kyle screamed as he awoke, lifting from whatever padded surface he had been placed onto and striking out at the hand on his stomach, his eyes blind to the living room that now surrounded him and his ears thick with the sound of static and rushing blood.

"Please... Please..." He sobbed, lips gasping with the force of his sobs as he tried to push the hands away, his arms weak and his body a tense coil of fear as he tried to find his footing. Another hand pushed him to lie back down, gentle instead of forceful, his back hitting a soft mattress as the sound of voices murmuring and someone shouting, high-pitched and furious.

"Does that look alright to you? Like f...fuck they didn't harm him, aw geez, what am I gonna tell his Mom and Dad? He's been asleep all day, they're gonna know he's not just hangin' with Tweek and me real soon and then what? You wanna deal with Kyle's Mom creatin' a panic 'cause we went and stole her son... Again!? Wait... Come back! Killer!"

Green eyes fluttered open, weary and dark beneath long lashes as he let the energy go from his shaking limbs and watched the blonde hold him down from where he sat on the quilt beside him. A bed?

Kyle cast a curious gaze over the soft comforter, the blue seeming all too familiar at this point. It may as well have been his second bedroom at the rate he kept coming back to it. A sudden pain had him groaning harshly, eyes snapping back to watch Butters dab at his stomach with something foul-smelling and ghastly orange. It stained his skin horrifically and he wrinkled his nose when Butters glanced up to catch his eye.

"I know, buddy," Butters sighed, shaking his head as he rubbed gently with the strange liquid, "It's just a bit of disinfectant and then I'll bandage you right up, good as new. You think you can focus for a little while, Kyle? You still sleepy?"

Kyle grit his teeth against the sting, fingers clenching in the soft quilt pulled to one side of his body. He wore his own jeans but his other garments had been discarded; shirt, jacket, shoes, all were missing. Kyle blinked, eyes snapping down to his orange-tinted stomach and the fresh blood that decorated one of the numbers. They had been healing so well, too. The redhead struggled to sit with a grunt, pushing aside Butters' careful hands and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Kyle!" Butters shouted, dropping his strange medicine and groaning in dismay as he watched the orange seep across the fluffy pale rug beside the bed. Blue eyes snapped up to his angrily. "Dammit, Kyle, this is for your own good!"

His own good? Kyle couldn't help it, he cast a comically wide-eyed look at Butters before dissolving into laughter, giddy and stomach-clenching laughter that brought tears of pain to his eyes. He stood with a giddy chuckle, hands braced out when the room swam briefly before sliding into focus. "That's a good one, Butters," he howled, slapping his thigh with one flat palm before he trudged across the floor and swung open the door with a snort of amusement. "You should be in comedy!"

The slender youth made his way down the stairs with chuckles still bubbling from his lips, ignoring the jolt each step caused in his stomach and the rapid swirl of his own thoughts. He hummed happily as he passed the open archway of the living room, ignoring the group of people within who seemed to freeze at the sight of him, and carrying on to the open front door.

He stepped barefoot onto the smooth, freezing concrete, lips stretched in a frigid smile as he bounced down each narrow step, uncaring for the moment of his current state of undress or whether he would pierce the soles of his feet with glass or stone or whatever the fuck was on the ground around these parts. It didn't matter and he didn't care anymore. He was blind to the Knives that littered the street, each one pausing in their routine to nudge the other and stare at him with both caution and no small amount of curiosity.

"You okay there, kid?"

The random shout drew a snort of laughter that was quickly stifled, but Kyle raised his hand in a limp wave nonetheless to acknowledge the person, feet incapable of stopping their swift walk forward even as his logical side began to seep into his giddy thoughts, horror bordering panic, and he had to ask himself just what the fuck he thought he was doing.

"Kyle."

His steps faltered, red curls swishing as he pivoted where he stood, cocking his head at the man that had called his name. He blinked up at Eric Cartman where the near-giant stood at the top of his stone steps, arms crossed and one eyebrow quirked in something that was definitely not amusement. Kyle's lip twitched as he took in that low ponytail and Eric's grim mouth, the bottom lip just a fraction fuller than his top one and seeming all too appealing in whatever shock-induced madness his mind had plunged into. The man was so tall, so imposing, he all but filled the door-way, his presence alone making Kyle feel so very... small.

"God, you're big."

Howls of laughter resounded from inside the open doorway of Cartman's home, Kyle's flickering green eyes steadying enough to see Kenny throw himself down on the carpeted hallway and Stan suck his lips in like some cartoon-ish reaper to contain his own amusement. Kyle turned his body more fully, glancing down in confusion when a throb of pain and sudden wetness had him clasping his hand to his mutilated midsection. He sniffed against the sudden pain choking his voice, beyond the point of humiliation as he felt hot tears slide against his cheeks.

"It hurts."

Cartman's formidable figure seemed to almost wilt, his arms dropping to twitch by the gun clipped to his hip. His scowl became a frown and his perfectly grim mouth turned down at the edges.

"I need you to come back inside, Kyle."

The redhead shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself and taking a step back as he watched his once best friends, Stan and Kenny, snap to attention by Eric's side, their eyes tracking him like a predator would watch an injured deer, sure of the catch but more certain of the chase.

"I can't go back in there, I'll get hurt again. I want to go home." Kyle turned to run, his decision swift enough that he made it hallway cross the old street-road before hands were gripping him around the waist and he was being lifted, his injured stomach cradled in one hand as he was draped across a shoulder too tall to settle his terrified mind.

"No! No! No! Put me down! Put me down, I'll die if I go back in there, I'll die!"

Eric ignored him, choosing instead to offer an icy glare at the men and women that watched Kyle with intrigue and fascination. Any ordinary member would have been shot through the eye before the word "no" could have left their traitorous lips. Any ordinary captive would have been left to run screaming around the street until he bled out, injuries never something that was done half-assed when it came to needing information or proving a point. This was something new, something of enough value to have their protection before they even knew of its existence. This was something that belonged to Boss and the Knives had never been in a situation like that before.

The golden eyed leader slammed the front door behind him, confining within the lounging forms of his closest members. He offered Butters only a curious quirk of his eyebrow as he passed the younger boy, grinning inside at the scowl that marred the blonde's pretty features. Kyle wasn't a very good patient.

With a grunt he slid the boy onto the couch, frowning not at the stain of blood that now flecked his shirt, but at the listless way the Jew allowed himself to be laid down, his body shivering in the warmth of the fire and his green eyes glazed as his lips moved in a low mumble to himself.

"That'd be the shock."

Kenny supplied the statement with a steady grin to the room, leaning over the back of the couch with his orange hoody pulled low over his tousled blonde hair like a cape, his tanned arms free and decked only in the odd charcoal-gray tattoo on his right bicep. The statement earned him a medicine box flung at his head by Butters, missing only by an inch when the taller youth brought his arms up to catch it, wincing at the sting of the heavy impact.

"Maybe if you'd stayed with me in the fucking room instead of running off to tell Boss he was wakin' we could've avoided a goddamn spectacle!" Butters snatched the first aid kit from his boyfriend's outstretched hands, riffling through until he pulled free a pack of butterfly stitches and a wrap of white bandage. He sniffed when Kyle looked up at him with pained eyes, his face otherwise impassive to everything around him.

"Don't look at me like that, Kyle, I'm tryin' here." Butters whispered, wiping his nose against his rolled up sleeve before his slender fingers got to work on wrapping yet more white around Kyle's swiftly bruising stomach. At this rate, the redhead would be more black and yellow than pale peach by the end of it all. Butters sighed, snapping the clasps to close the dressing and tapping his fingers against Kyle's outstretched palm.

Kyle gripped his hand around the slim digits, smiling shortly, before his mind sank back into its sulk, his lips refusing to comply when Wendy bent down to try and get him to drink something. Was this it, then? Would the rest of his life by this unending pattern of running from the gang, getting hurt, getting rescued and running from the gang once more? Had he been pegged from the start to get involved when he had turned his back on it all? Had his fate really ever been his own or was he doomed to spend eternity being the whipping boy for the Knives?

Was he bringing it on himself? Had he done something in a previous life that he so wholly deserved the shit he was going through now? Had he done something in this life... Had turning from his friends been enough to condemn him? He didn't know, could not begin to think on an answer that would satisfy his mind's wonderings. And maybe there wasn't one. Maybe it was not so simple as all that.

His ears barely took in the gentle conversation that started up around him, discussions of rotas, of shift changes and an outline of the borders that had to be rolled out to the other Knives. Kyle took it all in with not an ounce of interest. A certain sense of bewilderment, perhaps, that the kids of South Park could run something so... Systematically perfect. Did that much work really go into terrorising a town?

He kept a tight hold on Butters' fingers, eyes flitting about the room.

Wendy sat on the coffee table, one knee drawn up to rest her boot on the flat surface, her dark eyes intent as she listened to Red. Stan stood behind them both with his fingers braced on his gun and his blue eyes flicking to Kyle every so often, as if to make sure he was still there. Did Stan still care about him, after all this time? Was he the reason Kyle wasn't dead right now? The redhead frowned at the next glance the dark haired youth cast his way, only for Stan's answering grin to soften his brow.

Craig sat like the stoic, lean statue he had always been in school, face expressionless as he listened to whatever orders were called his way, his snowy skin marred only by that one silver scar. Tweek sat perched on his lap, hands fisted in Craig's blue shirt and blonde haired mussed by the hand Craig held steady within his locks. He had eyes for no one but the dark haired youth of his childhood, legs bent and back arched as he stared into Craig's face and seemed to all but vanish from the room. It looked as though nothing existed for him but the grey-eyed teenager with the slashed cheek and the apathetic eyes. Had they always been that intense, those two?

Kyle's head turned, skimming over the other, less-known figures to land on Kenny where the blonde lounged against the back of the couch, his arms bare and his hoody still thrown over his head like some childish hero. He smiled as he stroked Butters' hair back from the smaller boy's face, dark eyes soft and undeniably devoted as Butters' glared up at him with his paler blue stare, before sticking out his tongue with a crooked grin. Kyle remembered the moment they had fallen for one another, Kenny's eye blackened from a night of defending his mother from his drunk and abusive father and Butters tear-stained from a morning of being told how utterly useless he was as a son. They had passed one another in the school hallway, slowing their steps until they stood only inches apart, neither sure of what exactly drew them or had them suddenly so desperate to know more of the other and neither capable of moving. That was, until Butters raised a slim hand and cupped Kenny's yellowed jaw, his blue eyes filled with an understanding Kenny had never known from anyone else. The two had been destined from the start. Kyle watched them now, nearly five years later, still so utterly in love that no one else would ever be enough for them should they ever be forced apart. It was almost terrifying to watch them and know the world they were living in, a world of violence and games and heartbreak. How could something so utterly genuine and perfect ever exist in the world of the Knives? How could Butters stand to love Kenny knowing he might one day be ripped from him by a stray bullet? How could Kenny adore the small blonde so achingly and yet, in the same instance, pull him into a world where pretty things got smashed and stolen?

It didn't make sense... None of it made any sense to him. How could his friends have come to rescue him after he had turned from them, thrown their names behind him and refused to look back? How could Stan smile at him still after the insults Kyle had hurled at him, after the months of not answering his calls and blackening his name so horribly in his home that his best friend was not welcome across the threshold?

And why the hell had Eric Cartman not laughed as he took Kyle's life and told Damien and his Hell Raisers to go fuck themselves? Why the hell had the land been split for the sake of a truce when all they had had to bargain with was a stupid High schooler that should have meant nothing to the gang leader.

'"That better not be his fucking blood on his chin."'

Eric's words resounded like rough metal in his skull, tearing at his usual steel-walled defence of caring firstly about himself. Had it been a farce, to hold up pretences and not look weak? Or had the stone-cold threat he had heard in Cartman's voice been a genuine thing? Genuine concern that Kyle's blood had been spilled again...

Of their own accord, Kyle's emerald gaze sought out a golden one in the room full of old friends, unfamiliar allies and unknown strangers. His hand fell away from Butters, dropping to the couch as he scanned the space, lips drawing down and heart picking up when he could not find him. Had Eric left? Fuck, was the house even safe with Eric gone anymore?

The redhead made the sudden move to sit, only for a hand to brace against his chest and push him back down, the limb following until its owner kneeled before the couch, his eyes narrowed and his pale brown hair free of its bindings.

Kyle stared up into Eric's face, his eyes for once not just seeing the tormenting face of his childhood friend and bully, but the man Eric was growing into. There were no smile lines on that face, his lips quirked in a way that seemed perpetually ill at ease and his dark eyebrows drawn down to shadow his eyes. His skin was near flawless beyond the tiny scar by the line of his hair that he had carried from the age of thirteen when Kenny had hurled a CD at him. His hair seemed thicker when it hung to his shoulders, broad shoulders lined with muscle and cloaked only in one of the vests he was so often wearing. A wife beater, Kenny had once called them.

"You gonna try and run again?"

Kyle shook his head at that dark voice, lips clamped to stop the tremble that had run through him.

"You admit it was a pretty fucking stupid thing to do?"

Kyle nodded, not bothering to flick away the curve of his fringe when it fell over his eye with the movement, his thoughts on lockdown when he realised conversations had stopped and everyone was looking between him and Eric with the creepiest amount of intensity. Fuck, could they all fuck off for a little while? Friends or not, it scared the shit out of him to see them as they were now; strangers with familiar quirks and habits.

"Stop fucking looking at me!" He snapped, glaring at Kenny and then Stan over Eric's shoulder, "I'm not about to have another fuckin' episode, I'm good!"

For a second there was silence, visible tension from the members that did not know him well, before Stan let loose a low whistle and Wendy gave an embarrassed cough into her hand, ushering out the people closest to her and then the rest with a promise to go over things later. Kyle watched them leave with a scowl, ignoring when Craig flipped him off as he passed and Kenny began snorting in barely concealed laughter, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling.

"Aww," the blonde whined, a grin plastered across his face, "so you aren't gonna tell us any more about how big Boss is?"

Kyle would have launched himself at the blonde, injury or no, had Eric's hand not pushed him into the couch cushions and had Butters not already leapt to his defence. The small blonde gathered his medical equipment with a snort before grabbing a hold of Kenny's earlobe and all but dragging the lanky blonde from behind the couch and towards the door, all the while shaking his head at his boyfriend's lack of tact and irreparable manners.

And then they were gone, the sound of the door slamming shut loud in the sudden emptiness. Kyle gulped as he glanced around the empty room.

He was alone.

With Cartman.

Eric fucking Cartman.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Quaking fingers dragged the heavy dark-out curtains closed with a sharp snap, a stilted hum on his lips as Tweek moved from room to spacious room, bright green eyes narrowing on each piece of furniture that had migrated from its designated spot throughout the course of the week. He set each chair back to rights, each cushion perfectly fluffed and each switch flipped off before he allowed himself to move onto the next room and continue the routine, his humming the only sound to fill the almost clinically sparse house besides the soft murmur of the dishwasher in the background. He lived for nights like these. Nights when he could follow through with routine and not fall asleep on the window seat of the front room waiting for him to return home.

The skinny boy strolled through the hallways of his home, fingers trailing in their usual pattern against the rough wallpaper and stopping each time they connected with a picture frame slightly off-centre. The frames held photos of the town both in recent times and younger years, black and white shots of snow-littered hilltops and quaint little houses contrasting alarmingly with the boldly coloured snapshots of torn-down house fronts and litter-drenched alleyways. He photographed it all, his expensive and often used camera stowed away safely in a locker in their bedroom and taken out at least once a month when he had begged Craig enough to have the boy agreeing to take him out.

Most were discarded, holding no interest to Tweek's perfectionist eyes. A few, though, a few were kept, carefully and painstakingly pulled to the light of day in the dark room Craig had built for him in the basement of the house. Of these, only one or two would eventually survive, one to be framed and one to be stowed in the hard backed scrap book kept safely tucked away with his camera.

It was a hobby that helped control the majority of his compulsive mind, taking so much of his time, he would forget about homework and school for days on end, only for a teacher or Kyle to eventually remind him. Usually Kyle. It had been the redhead that kept him studious when he held little or no interest in the classes. Kyle's persistence to try new things, and helping in the hours when Tweek would have to remain behind in the library to catch up on the work he had daydreamed through was a blessing. Kyle was a support, a lifeline in school in the same way Butters was a lifeline for safety and taking care of oneself and Craig was a lifeline that tethered him to the ground so he would not float away.

The blonde counted the seventeen steps to the upstairs landing, his fingers already working on the buttons of his plain white shirt as he stepped into the bathroom to assess its state of tidiness, his hand rising to flush the bowl in a subconscious gesture. A shadow flew against the outside window and Tweek jerked, squeaking in surprise before swiftly shaking his blonde mane and dropping the blinds into place.

His feet moved him onward, to one spare bedroom and then the next, completely bypassing the open door that led to Craig's study, a place the boy ventured to lose himself in his music and thoughts. Though the door always remained open, the entrance had been decorated in red tape by Tweek's own fingers, sealing off the space as not his own; a silent promise to Craig that the room belonged to the dark haired youth alone.

He opened the last door with a final note to the song he had been humming since his routine began, sliding the white shirt from his skinny shoulders and throwing it neatly into the black hamper sat by the walk in closet. He shimmied from the loose trousers before dropping them in also, blind to the space around him as he shrugged free of his underwear and vest, his body twisting to reach for the top shelf of the cupboard set in the wall beside the closet. It was only when he had pulled the cotton pajamas bottoms over his legs and folded the cuffs of the pajama top neatly that he seemed to sense the other's presence, jolting and darting a shy look at the boy that had made no move where he lay against the bed.

It was a practice the raven haired youth was so very used to, listening to Tweek hum the same slow tune as he went about his living space, shutting the curtains and blinds and locking each door shut behind him. Every night that he wasn't on shift, Craig would listen for the start of that song as he made his way up the stairs, his share of the chores complete and tilting the frames crooked on the wall with a soft smile. He would strip and lounge on the bed in only his boxers, his pajama bottoms often discarded with the heat he produced in his sleep. There he would stay, silent and unmoving, until Tweek ended his song and swung open their bedroom door, dressing swiftly and precisely in the pajamas he had placed in the cupboard that morning.

Then, as always, he would turn to Craig and blush; as if the presence of his boyfriend was a thing he had completely forgotten in his routine, his innocence clear even after so many years in the shy slant of his eyes and the nervous tick of his shoulders as he fiddled with a lock of his wild hair and made his way slowly to the bed.

Craig smiled as the youth crawled between his legs, his manic hair pillowing on Craig's stomach and one small hand clutching at the dark haired youth's hip. The older man squeezed him gently between his thighs, dragging thin fingers through that golden hair until it lay flat against his palm and Tweek's hurried breaths stilled to a more normal pace. The pair lay in silence, Tweek's eyelids sliding shut though Craig knew he would not sleep until he had clambered beneath the covers and Craig had switched on the same movie Tweek watched every night at bed time.

"What're we watching tonight, Blondie?"

Tweek's smile moved against his stomach, fingers drumming a familiar beat against Craig's hip. "Trying your hand at sarcasm, Craig? Definitely not your thing."

"Trying your hand at humour, Blondie? I am impressed."

Tweek snorted against his skin, tilting his head to smile up at Craig, his small, upturned button nose crinkled in amusement. Such jokes had once brought on a panic attack from the small blonde, his mind certain that Craig was making fun of him and would cast him aside for his weirdness. Now, though, it seemed almost a part of the routine. Craig had so fully integrated himself into Tweek's frantic and insane life that the blonde doubted he would ever come to grips with reality if he had to go more than three days without his grey-eyed friend.

"We could watch a movie before we go to bed, if you like?"

Craig's eyes narrowed, his head shaking as he raked his fingers through soft hair once more. "I'm on dawn shift and there's a meeting after that, I should sleep while I can." He glanced down into wide green eyes, his lips curving in a soft smile. "Get into bed, Tweek, I'll pop on the movie."

Craig grinned as he moved, the sounds of Tweek shifting through sheets and rearranging pillows always one to calm the tension of his shoulders. It was a sound he associated with peace, with home, with Tweek.

He cracked the knuckles of one hand as the opening music of Moulin Rouge sounded through the television speakers, a tune he could hum almost in time with Tweek as the boy moved around the house every evening. A thousand times he had watched this movie as the sky blackened outside and the temperature dropped and Tweek's body fell into sleep beside his own. What link the boy held to such a movie, Craig had never asked, nor had his Tweek ventured to give the information; as though he was uncertain himself about the connection. Still, it never failed to lull him to sleep by the time the final number came around, before Satine faced her final curtain. Whether the blonde had ever made it beyond the happiness of the lover's final song, Craig was doubtful.

He moved beneath the covers now, sliding his knee between the blonde's slender thighs until Tweek's legs gave way beneath the gentle pressure and spread wide to allow Craig's body to sink between them. Green eyes glanced up into grey, startled and round.

"I thought you said you should sleep?"

Craig showed no reaction other than to roll his hips forward gently, delighting in the flimsy covering separating him from Tweek but no match for hiding the sudden stiffness between the small boy's legs. Tweek's eyes rolled back, his breath catching and an arm coming up to wrap around Craig's neck in an effort to still the sudden tick of his shoulder. Craig's eyes became lidded, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he thrust forward again, one large hand cupping Tweek's side while the other leaned beside the blonde's head for support. Tweek stuttered a broken moan, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip as his hips began to move subconsciously, rubbing against Craig's front frantically.

Craig took pity on him, grinding down again and swooping forward to plant his mouth against Tweek's wet,pink mouth, sucking the boy's abused bottom lip between his own and biting gently. He licked a wet line across those parted lips before moving to slide a hand between their bodies and play with the ties of Tweek's pajama bottoms.

"I'll sleep... Eventually."

###

Butters was rebelling.

The boy with the soft blue eyes and butter-yellow hair that fell about his cheeks in gentle strands was seated in the Ball-Out diner at a quarter to twelve at night with a cup of sweet tea clutched in his hands.

Tucked safely away in Knife territory though the diner was and filled only with a few happily chattering students and two or three newer Knives that were watching him like guard dogs; Butters knew that if Kenny learned of him straying away from home at the dead of night on his own without so much as telling Boss, the smaller blonde would be in for a world of punishment.

Not that he cared. Butters wrinkled his nose at the twenty-odd year old Knife that sat beside his gang brother, his face unfamiliar. His panicked eyes when he realised Butters was aware of them keeping an eye on him was enough to have the blonde realising just how new the recruits must be. As partner to the second in command, Butters was treated to overprotective eyes regardless of whether he was taking a walk alone in the park or running away from Kenny to teach the tall blonde a lesson after some stupid argument. He was rarely left alone with his thoughts once away from the safety of his home or the neutrality of school.

It was a good thing, Butters knew this. Look what had happened to Kyle without another set of eyes to watch his back that night. If the same happened to Butters, Kenny would raise literal Hell among the gang members and go on an all out spree to get him back. The blonde sighed, twisting his cup in his hands and running his tongue against his teeth. He was under no illusion that Kenny would kill for him, it was as much a fact of life as the sun setting every evening and sugar tasting sweet. Nothing could bring Killer to the forefront of Kenny's personality more swiftly than a threat on Butters' head.

No, Butters was well aware of all that. He could understand that, could almost appreciate it in a way. What allowed him to love Kenny despite his darker side was knowing, whole-heartedly, that the lanky teenager with the dark cobalt eyes and the bright grin would happily die for him. Butters knew in his heart that if ever there came a moment when his life would be endangered because of Kenny that the blonde would put a gun to his own head before he let Butters suffer.

Theirs was a romantic love people so often craved for; simpering over it in books and movies. It should have been an unnecessary love, existing solely as a 'what if' and in distant fantasies. In the world of the Knives, though, and in the easily-corrupted belly of South Park, it was a love that was all too real for Butters' tastes. The idea that Kenny would die for him should have been a romantic notion, a promise that would never be fulfilled but was pretty all the same. With the way life had been growing up, it was a promise that sat on Butters' mind far too often and was all too real in the light of day.

The blonde groaned, scrubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. Why did he let himself get into these sulks? What was wrong with him that he couldn't be happy that Kyle was back where he belonged and his homework was complete for next Monday and Kenny had left for his work with a belly full of dinner and a kiss to Butters' head. Couldn't he just think on the normal things for once? Would it kill him to smile knowing that, right now, things were as okay as they were going to get?

"C'mon, Butters, get a hold of yourself. Nothin' bad's happened."

"So my brother isn't dead, then?"

Butters jolted in his seat, his hands dropping to stare blearily at the teenager that had slid, silently, into the companion seat across the table from him. 

Ike Broflovski was tall for a fourteen-year-old. Though adopted, his brown eyes slanted in a way that was all too similar to the look Kyle's mother would give them when she had to get out of bed at two in the morning and tell them to be quiet during sleepovers. His black hair was slanted over one eye, the stylish jacket he wore open to show the purple chequered top beneath. If ever there had been a kid in South Park that cared less about what people saw in him, it was Ike.

"And just what do you think you're doin' out so late, Ike?" Butters frowned, pursing his lips at the younger boy as Ike lounged back in his seat and reached a hand out to nab Butters cup. He sniffed the sugar-riddled substance before wrinkling his nose.

"I was out with friends," Ike waved a dismissive hand towards a group of young girls and boys all watching him intently, their eyes bulging when Butters darted a glance their way before waving sheepishly. The older blonde glared at them.

"Y'all shouldn't be out so late! What're ye, twelve? thirteen? It's gonna be midnight soon, don't ye have homes ye should be gettin' back to?"

The group murmured, heads bowing as they dished out money silently for their trays of food before gathering their jackets and bags and making for the exit. Butters watched them with a narrow gaze, blue eyes sliding to the Knife he had caught staring only a moment ago before nodding his head in the kids' direction. An order to follow. It was one thing to start to feel safe again and venture out after all the crap the Hell Raisers had put South Park through recently. It was another thing entirely to have kids running around at midnight and getting caught up in something nasty.

"Sooo..."

Butters snapped his attention back towards Ike, mouth forming a thin line as the other boy's brown eyes watched him steadily. "Yes?"

"Is he dead, then, or...?"

Butters scowled. "No, Ike. Your brother is not dead, Jesus. Kyle has been with me all day and is now sleeping. C'mon, I'm walking you home."

Ike sighed, dark eyes skywards as he stood from the plastic seat and watched Butters throw down a few notes for the tea. The pair made their way outside, Ike's heavy black boots clunking against the sidewalk as he rolled down the sleeves of his black jacket. Butters stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, ignoring the teen's unending stare as he herded them both away from the street the boys had found Kyle down and instead towards the back path. A longer walk but whatever kept the memories away sometimes was a good thing.

"Are you aware that we're being followed?" Ike's voice perked after a while, his head tilting back to stare up at the dark sky. Butters watched him, before snorting and pushing the teenager forward with a smile.

"What have you, eyes on the back of your head?" he grinned, "I'm always followed when I'm out on my own. The perks of bein' associated with a gang. Don't matter how much I holler at 'em to back off, they're under orders not to let me get hurt."

"Seems like a shitty deal," Ike wrinkled his nose, pausing a moment to stare back over his shoulder until he caught sight of the Knife tailing Butters. "Fuck off! I ain't gonna stab him and he can take care of himself!"

Butters grabbed the youth's collar, dragging Ike to his side with a growl as the kid dissolved into giggles that only served to bring a snort of laughter from whatever Knife was lurking after them trying to be a good little boy scout. The blonde rolled his eyes. "You've got a death wish, kid. Didn't your Mom teach you any common sense? Or Kyle for that matter?"

Ike took a corner with a skip, treading his fingers through his dark hair and scowling back at Butters. "Keeping his head down obviously didn't do Kyle much good, now did it? I saw him changing clothes a few weeks back, I know what those fuckers did to his stomach." The black haired youth spat on the ground, lips drawing over his teeth in a sneer. "What good's bein' a wallflower gonna get ya? Kyle shoulda tore those fuckers a new one, he's lost his fuckin' spirit. Far as I'm concerned, the more time he spends with ye the better. And you, too. Where's your backbone gone, huh? You don't need no one followin' you around, Butters."

The blonde's steps had slowed, his mouth dropping open as they neared the pale brown door that marked the entrance of the Broflovski residence. He watched Ike glare up at the house, before the younger boy shook his head.

"You keep him away from here, Butters. This house may be home but it's done nothin' but stamp out Kyle's energy." He smirked, grin too sly for one so young, as he bounded up the stone steps and fished a key from his trouser pocket. The teen opened the door with a click, shaking his dark fringe into his eye as he made his way inside. "Let him stay with the Knives, the old gang. See if that won't bring the old Kyle back."

Butters was left with only Ike's gleeful laughter sounding out as the door slammed shut, his mouth agape as he felt another figure slink up beside him in the darkness, a puff of smoke stinging his eyes until he glared at the new recruit. This one was young. Younger than they usually took on and barely surpassing Butters lean height. The sixteen year old flicker his cigarette away into the street, flipping his black hair away from his kohl-lined baby blue eyes with a smile that was almost soft.

"Kid's got a point."

Butters squinted up at him, trying to place his name. "Aren't you only like a grade above him in school?"

The younger boy nodded, smile bright. "He's fuckin' cool there too. 'Mon, Killer gets off shift at one and if you're not home, it'll be us poor souls that get the backlash. Grow a backbone tomorrow."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

"I'm bored, Cartman."

"Hm."

Kyle rolled his eyes, his fingers tapping against his cheek where he cupped his face, elbow propped on top of the sleek pale wood of Cartman's kitchen table. The room was tiny compared to the rest of the open-plan house; a box-like space decorated in pale yellow and soft wood counter tops. Kyle sat in one of the sleek-backed chairs, body hunched forward even as the bindings around his waist protested it. A week he had been wearing the bandages again under Butters' strict orders not to take them off in case infection set in. The redhead heaved a sigh, leaning back and glaring at the uninterested head of Eric Cartman where the man was bent over paperwork on the other side of the table, his brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail. What the Hell kind of paperwork did a guy like Eric do anyway?

It wasn't the first time Kyle had seen him ponder and scribble over several important-looking sheets in the seven days he had been living with the gang leader, his tall form and broad shoulders making the small kitchen seem all the more box-like. Why he didn't enclose himself in the spacious study Kyle had found on his third day of scouting through the house alone, Kyle didn't know; he had simply come to the conclusion that, despite his now slender face and trim waist, Eric was still a fatass at heart and detested being far from food.

Not that Kyle had seen him eat with the gusto the man had once tucked into food as a child. For the most part, Eric wasn't even in the house with him; tucked away discussing illegal stuff Kyle had no desire to learn about or off playing follow the leader with his gang; the redhead couldn't bring himself to care much. His only opinion on the matter were the panic attacks he had to breathe his way through every time that front door clicked shut each morning or lunch hour and Kyle was left entirely alone. Logically, he knew there was no safer place. Had he not been stifling the screams of his nightmares every night and counting down the minutes until Eric or Butters or Tweek or Kenny or Stan or anyone bearing some form of familiarity came through the front door, Kyle would have demanded to be taken home days ago. As it was, the thought of going back home turned his stomach. To have to fall back into that tense pattern of pretending as though nothing had happened to his mother and father, of smiling and talking about school as if it was the only drama in his life, of having to avoid Ike's knowing stares every time he twisted the wrong way.

Jesus, he couldn't go back to that. Not yet.

And school? School was a worry all in itself. His panic at having to go without classes, of missing out on hints and assessments and falling behind was marred only by the terror of knowing that he would once again be the centre of attention and a focal point for gossip; not to mention that Roo and Pip were still attending. As much as he didn't blame Pip for what had happened, he did not need a fucking reminder of Omen and his stupid gang right now.

Kyle blinked, eyes glancing down at the open shirt he wore, at least three sizes too big. The stiff white material was expensive even to look at, hanging heavily and buttons undone to show his freckled chest and the white gauze that was beginning to seep through with the iodine Butters had coated him in that morning before school, a promise to bring Kyle's bag and books on his lips.

Kyle prodded at the orange stains softly, picking at the thin gauze.

"Don't touch it."

Green eyes snapped up, fingers freezing before Kyle sneered at Eric's still bowed head, the taller man reaching for his cup of coffee without so much as glancing in Kyle's direction.

"It's my goddamn body, I'll touch it if I want!"

Sarcastic and snippy as the comment had sounded in his head, as soon as it left his lips Kyle's brain danced with the subtle innuendo of his own words and his cheeks burned when Eric set his pen aside and straightened to look at him, his golden eyes undecipherable.

"Will you now?"

The words were almost playful, would have been had they come from someone like Kenny and not Eric. For as long as Kyle could remember, the older male had had no interest in subtle jokes. There was no backing down now, though. He'd dug his own grave and he would damn well sit in it till Cartman grew bored. Kyle plucked at the bandages again, nose wrinkling and eyes narrowed in a silent and all too obvious question. What are you going to do about it?

Cartman watched him for a tense moment, a turn to the corner of his mouth that could have almost been amusement, before he rolled his eyes and picked up his pen. "Relax, brat. Go watch TV or something, I'm too busy to babysit you right now. I'll find you a playmate when Princess and Blondie get back from school."

Kyle's eye twitched, his fingers clenching in the clean shirt and wrinkling the stiff fabric. What was he, a toddler? He didn't need a fucking playmate, he needed routine. He needed to know just what the Hell his life was turning into and where it was heading. He needed Cartman to stop being a jackass and talk to him for two goddamn minutes. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it? Two stupid minutes of the asshole's precious time to let Kyle know that he wasn't going to fade off the surface of the fucking planet and become lost in this stupid manor house with the stupid Knives surrounding him. He was fucking suffocating here.

Kyle watched Eric continue on with his work, pen moving in sure streaks across the pages as golden eyes scanned beneath a furrowed brow. Had Cartman put half the amount of effort into schoolwork as he had done with all his scheming and plotting as a kid, the man would be a fucking genius. Not that he hadn't been while still in school. As annoying and tormenting as Cartman's stereotypical slurs had been to Kyle, there had been no denying that once Eric took an interest in something he became obsessed with it and would not budge until every angle had been seen to.

Hell, it was probably what led to him becoming the leader of the most feared and best organised street gang in Colorado. The man was systematic to a tee. His lack of morality was one thing, Kyle didn't doubt that Eric had used the gun clipped to his jeans on more than a couple of occasions; but understanding that it hadn't been brute force alone that pushed Eric to the top, well, that was something else.

Green eyes swept over the pistol, like an additional limb he had seen Cartman with it so often. His eyes slid higher, over the buttoned shirt that crinkled around Eric's waist; a place where, not ten years ago the material would have strained with puppy fat and childhood chubbiness caused by a careless mother. It hadn't been much of a surprise that the moment puberty had struck and Eric had sprouted above them all, he had begun to swiftly lose the pounds. What had been a surprise had been actually seeing the fatass take up exercising.

It had clearly done him good. Kyle's eyes wandered over the broad expanse of chest beneath that shirt, shoulders hunched where Cartman was bowed to read the paper without lifting it from the piles he had organised them into on the tabletop. He wasn't a bad looking guy. At all. Kyle's nose wrinkled at the thought, his green eyes rolling. He had never been a bad looking guy. Even with the name-calling and Cartman goading him into fights, he had been drawn to the other boy his entire fucking life. Cartman was cruel, vindictive, spiteful and domineering, but he drew Kyle in like a magnet all the fucking same. What was the matter with him? Why was it he had put up with the brunette's shit all these years and had still called him a friend? Why was it he was putting up with his shit now, when Cartman's games had progressed to the point of being lethal? Did he just like having his name and religion dragged through the mud or had he been so eager for a fight that he had let Cartman's stupid insults bug him that much?

"Why didn't you just kill me?"

The words were far too loud in the quiet kitchen lit with the weak rays of sunshine from the outside. His voice was almost robotic, neither curious nor frightened. It was almost bored, that tone, and had him leaning back to question why he had even asked in the first place. Did he really want to know?

Eric's pen paused in its movements, hovering above the page before he set it aside slowly, his cup of coffee forgotten as he straightened his spine against the hardback chair and looked at the redhead across from him. Kyle had been watching him; that much was obvious. Why the Jew was happier studying him than off doing his own thing in the house, Eric didn't know. He knew only that Kyle's stares had grown more frequent over the last few days and it had all been building to this. That one question. Why hadn't he killed Kyle.

"Are you so eager to die?" His own voice was low, curious to know the answer as gold eyes took in Kyle's pursed lips and tired slouch. As much as he tried to muffle his screams at night and smile in front of the others, the redhead's lack of sleep was painfully obvious in his paper white skin and the dark bruises beneath his eyes. It almost curled his stomach to see the boy in such a state.

Kyle blinked, one slow sweep as Eric stared him down, one dark eyebrow quirked and his elbows leaning in to rest on the table. Kyle didn't want to die, no of course not. He wasn't suicidal, he wasn't about to take his own life or go out without kicking up a fucking storm. But had he been ready to die that night Kicker had gouged their mark into his stomach? Had he accepted his fate the second Omen had pressed the muzzle of his gun against the side of his head? The fear licked at his wounds even now, drawing them into sharp focus and rendering the snippy comeback he had been about to spew non-existent.

"I don't know."

Eric's brow furrowed, his golden eyes scowling as he stood slowly, a giant over Kyle's suddenly limp form. "Wrong answer, Kyle."

The redhead jerked, sneering up at his old classmate. "What would you care anyway? So what if my brains had been blown out and I wanted to save myself a fuckin' nosebleed panicking about the inevitable? So what if it was them who threatened me or you, doesn't make a difference in the end, does it? I'd still be dead! So why the hell aren't I, Cartman? Huh? Why didn't you put an end to this stupid goddamn game the second you realised it was me on that couch or me on the sidewalk? My life doesn't mean shit!" Kyle stood with a growl, fingers twitching until he clenched them into fists, his cheeks flushed red as he pushed away the chair and made to stride from the room.

Eric was there before he could make it, the stupid giant blocking his path and scowling down at him.

"Let me go, Cartman! I'm sick of this shit, I'm sick of being afraid, I'm sick of playing a part in a game I don't know the fuckin' rules of and I'm fuckin' sick of being your target! You don't get to do this to me anymore, fatass!"

The insult was a hollow one that almost seemed funny with Kyle glaring up at the perfectly proportioned man before him, Eric's eyes blowing wide as if he himself hadn't heard the familiar slur in years, and with the loyalty he demanded from his followers, he probably hadn't. His sneering mouth clamped shut, a genuine glimmer of amusement in those golden eyes.

"Really? Really, Kyle?"

Kyle snarled, lifting his fist to lash out against the brunette's solid chest and grinning in satisfaction when Eric gave a grunt of discomfort and moved back a step. He didn't matter that the fatass had grown, it didn't matter that the old Eric would have whined at him or insulted him back. It didn't matter that this man was so obviously matured from the tormenting little anti-Semite that Kyle had had the misfortune of growing up with. At the end of the day, this was Eric Cartman and Kyle needed him to hurt. He needed the man to feel a fraction of the pain Kyle had been put through for his gang and to draw him out. He needed the stupid, unfeeling fucker to know that he was hurting and it was all his fault. Damien and his gang were almost inconsequential, everything always came down to Eric fucking Cartman. It was always his fault. Always his fault. Nobody else could hold a candle to the blinding explosion of light that was Eric Cartman and his stupid fucking ideas that always left Kyle in some form of shit.

"It's your fault!" he cried, almost unaware that it was his voice that was ringing through the quiet house and it was his fists that were belting again and again off of another person and it was his tears that choked him and burned his cheeks. "It's always your fucking fault! You did this to me! Everything that I've been through is because of you!"

Kyle sobbed, chest heaving and the pounding of blood in his ears almost painful enough to take away from the disgusting pain of his mutilated midsection and the message he would forever bear for Eric Cartman, for Boss. He almost didn't feel the arms that came around his jerking torso, his green eyes blind with tears as he let himself be pulled into an embrace that was alien and yet all too familiar. The scent of coffee and tobacco was only a layer in the essence that was Eric, clean linen and lemon soap and unidentifiable shampoo and beneath it all was still the stupid familiar scent that was Eric Cartman.

Kyle lost himself to his tears, to his nightmares and the unanswered questions that still burned inside his skull. For the moment, none of it mattered even as it piled high in his mind, threatening to overtake him. None of it; not why Eric hadn't killed him or why Damien believed Eric loved him or why his own heart was aching for something in the red-eyed gang leader's words to be true. None of it mattered. The only thing that existed to him in that moment were the arms around his waist and the shirt beneath his cheek and the silence that was going to drive him slowly towards madness.

###

Michael watched her with dark eyes, taking in the gentle sway of her hips as she wiped her knives clean, her voice dark and with a northern twang as she spoke to the others around her.

"And that, kiddies, is how we carve a letter into the neck without nicking any vitals. Questions?"

The three gathered around her were so obviously new it was almost painful. Two had taken a go at slicing at him and one had already vomited up their dinner all over the black rug that furnished the floor. Everything about the room was black. Furniture, walls, shelves, even the blades his tormentor was using to mess up his skin. He sighed, titling his head back despite the pain that screeched across his skull at the action.

"A training tool for newbs. Fuck, kill me now."

The female Knife made a sound that was almost compassionate, her black hair whipping about her round face as she faced him, nothing but amusement in her black rimmed eyes. "I know, baby. But, hey, you gotta use the tools at hand right? And Boss was so good to give you to me after all that shit with your gang settled down. It's nothin' personal, brother."

Michael grinned, splitting his lip open again and licking at the blood that spilled there. Brother. Oh, he was definitely her soul Brother, of that he was sure. Even Pete hadn't been as keen on the gothic life as this little Knife seemed to be. Occult music filtered through her basement from somewhere and the shades of charcoal and black had him almost feeling at home. Had they been born in different worlds, he might have called Henrietta a friend.

"If I must fall by the hand of the mortal than I am glad it is by your hand, my eternal sister." He snapped his teeth at her, curly black hair falling into one eye. She rolled her eyes at him, sending the newbie Knives away with a flick of her wrist and glaring when they all but stumbled over themselves in an effort to leave her basement. Nine newbs they had taken on in the past two weeks and only three of them showed any promise; most definitely not the three morons she had just had to deal with. She would be sure to let Boss know the ones to cut loose lest their pansy-ass morals infect the three decent recruits.

"You do realise that I'm going to have to kill you, Poe?" Henrietta sighed, using the name the Goth had spat at them his first night of having Boss and Killer question him. "That you've survived this long is a disaster, really. I can only blame that fucking truce for putting us out of swing, but I'm about to right that wrong. And whichever of your dear gang brothers that stumbles into our territory again won't be offered such a long stay. Count yourself lucky."

"Lucky to have met you, my dark Angel of Death." Michael chuckled giddily, eyes working to stay open against the blood loss. Even if she didn't deal the striking blow, he was dead anyway. A perfect fucking ending to his perfect fucking life. He would give into the dark flames of Hell with grace if it meant seeing Pete's face once more and knowing it was this perfect blood sister that threw him to the fires. "Get it over with."

Henrietta sighed, flicking the cigarette she had just lit to one side and stubbing it out with her black boot. It wasn't as though the carpet could get any more filthy down here, anyway. She picked up a single knife, sharp and glinting despite the black paint. When she looked at him, it was with the closest thing to remorse the Goth girl could summon to her pitiless eyes; an almost apology from one sufferer to another in the pathetic plane of existence that was life. She struck with a rapid speed, plunging the blade up into the soft skin of the Goth's pale neck and twisting until the light flickered from his dark eyes and his smiling lips slackened.

"Rest well, brother."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Firkle heaved a sigh, lugging his black satchel further onto his skinny shoulder and flicking his naturally black hair from his face. Fucking hair was a fucking nightmare. He left it sit where it wanted and it would blind one eye until he ran into someone, he touched it up with conformist products or straighteners and it would turn all wispy and float about with the slightest breeze. There was no winning with hair that goddamn temperamental. Pale fingers itching to take the pack of cigarettes from his back pocket dragged through the thick fringe, giving his pale blue eyes ample room to scan the crowded school hallways.

He fucking hated school. The sooner he could become a full time member of the Knives and ditch, the better. Not that Henrietta had been pleased when he told her of his plans. Joining the Knives, sure, she could understand that. If ever there was a way to feel a bit of something in the stupid banality that was life, it would be joining with the street gang. The Goth girl, herself was one of the older members, trusted enough that as soon as the clock struck midnight on his sixteenth birthday, she had drafted him in with a nod from the Boss.

Quitting school, though? That was the one thing Henrietta had ever pulled him on in all their years of friendship. Not that she had any room to preach; the girl had upended her own desk one day and all but pranced out the classroom doors at the age of seventeen, her middle finger raised in a final salute to the teacher whose comments had gotten just a smidge too personal against the dark-haired girl's choice of clothing.

That was her, though, she had tried to explain. There was never going to be a path to college or a bright and shiny future for her, not with her bouts of rage and trust issues. Firkle, she had said, was a different matter; non-conformist in all the ways that mattered and still as sweet as apple pie. What she meant by that, he wasn't too sure; but it had made him roll his eyes all the same. So what if he had a better temperament? It wasn't like his grades were anything to write home about. It had not stopped his mother walking out on them and it sure as hell had not stopped the stupid bag of bones he called a father from pouring every saved up penny into gambling. It was a fucking miracle his school fees had even been paid this semester.

No, wherever he was going, it was going to be big. He was going to make a real name for himself built on good, old fashioned respect. Boss would set him up once he proved himself, he knew that. He only needed a few years to build up the money and the confidence to go it on his own; somewhere far, far fucking away from South Park.

"Oh, shit, sorry!" Firkle's mouth garbled out the apology as he crash-landed back to reality, his shoulder throbbing where he had bounced off of someone else, blue eyes fixed to the floor. It wasn't a rare occasion that catching the eye of whoever he had walked into with his daydreaming had led to him nursing a sore gut for the rest of the evening. He wasn't about to go pushing his luck just because he was now, technically, a Knife. Shit, he hadn't even hit a guy yet.

"Hey."

The genuine amusement in that voice had him glancing up, arm slacking on the strap of his bag when he realised it wasn't a meathead conformist he had walked himself into, but Ike Broflovski. The fourteen year old was at least a head taller than him, lanky in a way teenagers were before they filled in properly. Not that it looked like Ike Broflovski needed any more filling in. Skinny as the boy was, he held himself in a way that screamed confidence and self-assurance. His black hair was silky and long enough to draw looks, his brown eyes just standoffish enough that those looks never turned to nasty words.

He was surrounded, like he often was, by at least a half a dozen other students all ranging from conformist to trendy punk to outright attempted cloning of the outfits Ike wore most days. A year younger than half the people in his grade and two years younger than Firkle himself and still, he looked like he could power the world. Fuck, he was cool.

"Don't I know you?"

Ike was talking to him, brown eyes slanted as if trying to recall something, one hand propped on the edge of his purple leather pants and the other holding a brown backpack. He slung it over one shoulder as Firkle gaped up at him, black fringe falling back into his eye and his mouth running dry. Fuck, had he really seen him the other night with Butters? How could someone's eyesight be that good in the dark, he had been at least four car lengths behind them at all times!

"Firkle, right?" Ike suddenly grinned, teeth sharp and white, "you're the kid that designed the poster for the Halloween Dance a few months back. That was seriously fuckin' cool."

Firkle stared back, black painted lips parted. Ignoring for the minute that a fourteen year old had just called him 'kid' and was drawing him into an actual conversation, a thing Firkle couldn't abide during school hours; had Ike just complimented his drawing skills? Really? Fuck, what was wrong with him? He was standing there like a fucking moron, staring like a star-struck princess into her hero's eyes. Fucking open your mouth, say something!

"The skeletons were super tricky."

What the fuck was that, Firkle? He winced at the sound of his own pitchy voice leaving his lips. Had he really just said 'super tricky' to Ike fucking Broflovski?

Ike grinned, turning suddenly to grab a coat from the locker behind him and swinging it over his shoulder. "Don't you live by the diner? I fuckin' know you do, c'mon that's like ten minutes from my place. Walk me home, Superman."

Frozen for a second, Firkle took the glares aimed in his direction by a few select females, before spinning on his heel and all but sprinting to catch up with Ike's departing figure. He walked behind the lanky youth, ignoring the waves and hellos thrown in Ike's direction until the younger teen kicked open the doors to the school and skipped his way down the stone steps.

Superman? Was Ike taking the piss? Was this a joke to him that he would laugh off as soon as he realised Firkle was still following him. The smaller teenager glanced up at Ike's face, his stomach twisting funnily at the smile gracing the boy's pale face and the way his thick black hair stayed exactly where he wanted it to whenever he ran his fingers through it.

"So, you're a Knife now?"

Firkle blanched, tripping over his own shoes, and would have fallen had Ike's hand not shot out and grabbed his arm.

"Relax, Firkle," the younger boy chuckled, his hand lifting to ruffle the small goth's hair in an action that would have cost anybody else their fingers, including Henrietta. "I'm not gonna out ya to the school. You wanna stay in the cutlery drawer, that's fine by me. Hell, I don't blame you. Seein' how some people avoid Butters and Tweek is a pain in the ass, man. If our lunch times corresponded I'd be out with them every fuckin' day. They're the good guys, those too. You're a good guy too, right, Superman?"

Firkle watched him speak, eyes following the simple way words seemed to leave the boy; as if he had been through every conversation anyone could ever have and knew the exact comeback and response. His confidence was mesmerising. He licked his lips.

"I dunno those two personally, man. I'm not exactly popular anyway so it wouldn't make much difference whether you told or not, I guess." He bit his lip, "Maybe it would make shit harder though, I dunno. I just know it was the right thing to do for me."

Ike was nodding, brown eyes solemn and the joking tilt to his lips gone. "We have to do what feels right, right?" An eyebrow was quirked in his direction, those lips pulling back into a smile. "You're a good guy, Superman, I can tell. You do what you have to, just watch your back, alright? And do me a favour?"

Firkle was nodding his agreement before he had even heard the favour. If Henrietta or Boss could see him now, they'd call him a fool. "What favour?"

Ike turned his eyes back on the path, looking for a moment like the fourteen year old he really was. "If you see my brother, tell him to watch his back too." His mouth twisted in a wry grin, eyes alight, "if he turns up half-dead, I'll fuckin' kill him."

###

"Got any three's?"

"Go fish."

"I call bullshit, Butters! That's the fifth time now!"

The blonde glared at him in outrage, cards clutched close to his chest and blue eyes livid as they stared down the redhead squinting up at him. "As if there would be a point to cheating at Go Fish, Kyle!"

"You've done it before."

Tweek snorted a laugh into his glass of coke, jerking back with a fitful cough when the bubbles flew straight up his nose. "Oh man, that's right! You did!"

Butters flushed, rolling up his sleeves awkwardly and keeping a hold on the cards still in his fist. "I just didn't know how to play the game right, is all! Besides, that was like six years ago, Kyle, way to hold a freakin' grudge!"

"I lost three jumbo chocolate bars to your lyin' ass, Butters. It's shit like that that scars people for life." Kyle flung his cards down, diving for the taller blonde even as Butters squeaked and flung himself bodily over the cards.

"You're gonna ruin the game, Kyle! Tweek, help!"

Tweek sighed, eyes rolling upwards as the tackle turned into some hopeless wrestling match, Butters unwilling to fight back lest he hurt the redhead or accidentally show the cards he held like some trophy. Kyle dug skinny fingers into the blonde's sides, tearing a shriek of laughter from his friend that almost had Butters giving up his iron-like grip.

"Show me the cards, cheater!"

"N-no!" Butters shrieked, body curling inwards and face a breathless pink as he tried to breathe past the laughter brought on by Kyle's tickling. In a moment of blind panic, he twisted until Kyle fell to one side with a huff and stuffed the precious cards down the front of his pants, pulling the cords tight on the tracksuit bottoms.

Tweek's body jerked, the coke splattering the front of his red t-shirt as he tried to snuff back the giggles trying to get loose at the look Kyle was giving Butters. Green eyes narrowed dangerously, flitting between the blonde's pink face and his pants as if daring his old friend to think the redhead wouldn't go above and beyond to find out if he was cheating on one silly game of Go Fish.

"Don't you dare."

When Kyle suddenly straddled the blonde and yanked the ties free, Tweek could do little to stop the fitful laughter that sent his glass sprawling across the wooden floor, decorating the pale brown in a puddle of darkness that was quickly being soaked up by Tweek's jeans and Butters' lilac-coloured shirt. The blonde screamed, fighting off Kyle one-handed as he tried to squirm away from the freezing liquid, until Tweek felt his throat constrict with the force of his chuckles and he had to bend over and slap his hand against the wood.

"No more! No more, I'm gonna puke!"

"Like I'm doing this for your entertainment, you asshole!" Butters hollered, his shirt well and truly ruined and his legs staying crossed even as he tried to kick Kyle off. "Get over here and help me! Kyle if you pull a stitch, you're in so much fuckin' trouble! I'll fucking stitch you back up without anaesthetic!"

The redhead reared back as though slapped, green eyes slanted in a glare that would have put Boss' own to shame. Butters froze like an animal certain its life was at risk, blue eyes blown wide and skin flushed and sweaty. Tweek halted his croaking laugh, grabbing at a stitch in his side from having laughed too hard and for too long. It only took one second of that glare pinned on him for the smaller blonde to shrink back.

"Don't you help him, Tweek, he's a bad man who cheats at cards. Help me pin him and I'll make you a caramel latte, all the ingredients are in the kitchen."

"They are?" Tweek perked, rising up on his hands and knees as Butters groaned in defeat, hands flinging back to knock against the hardwood and dip into the sticky mess Tweek had made. His nose scrunched up in disgust, head tilting back to stare at the spill.

"Oh, that's gross. Tweek, clean that up this isn't even your – Gah!"

Butters choked on his final word, back arching as Kyle's hand dived down the front of his pants and gripped the cards that had remained, thankfully, together, warm from the heat of the blonde's body.

"Um..."

Kyle froze, fingers still down the front of Butters pants and his legs strewn over the taller boy's hips as Butters' body grew equally still beneath him, his skin now a vicious red and his legs and arms splayed in a way that could only be described as wantonly. Green eyes darted to the side to find Tweek only inches from them, one hand grasping Butters' wrist to drag him away from the sticky mess on the floor. The redhead winced, peaking from beneath his tousled hair to the easily slightly stunned faces of Kenny, Stan and Craig.

With a sigh blown from his nose and a determined pout, Kyle straightened against his friend's lap and plucked his hand from its suspicious position, Butters' cards held between his two fingers.

Kenny's dark eyes took in the scene with one quirked brow and a slant to his usually smiling mouth. At the sight of the cards, the corner of his lips began to tick and slowly, his lips stretched over white teeth in a shark-like grin that lit his whole face.

"That's a neat trick."

"He was cheating in Go Fish!" Kyle blurted, squinting at the cards in his grasp before pushing them in front of Butters' face with a triumphant shout. "What number is that, Butters, huh?"

Butters had the decency to blush, though Kyle doubted whether he would survive any more blood going to his head by the pink that was swiftly replacing his creamy skin tone. "Well, geez, look at that."

Tweek howled his laughter beside them when Kyle flung the cards into his friend's face, his arms giving way until he landed curled sideways in the spilled coke, uncaring for the moment of the stickiness he would have to deal with later.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "Fuck, I forgot how shitty Butters was at cards."

Kenny leaned an arm on the shorter man's shoulder, the hood to his favourite orange sweatshirt pulled down as he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and flicked a lighter from his pocket. "He always cheats," Kenny mumbled through the smoke, lifting the stick from his lips to blow out with a grin and glancing at Craig. "Kyle should know that by now. You might wanna get a damp towel, Ghost, Blondie's gonna scream blue murder as soon as he's back to his own mind enough to realise he's rolled in somethin' sticky."

Craig grimaced, his dark eyes almost amused as they watched Tweek struggle through his laughter, eyes flaring wide when Kyle turned to leap at him, fingers digging into the blonde's skinny sides as he yelled out what a lousy partner he had been trying to prove Butters' guilt. The taller blonde was pulling himself upright, groaning at the ache in his side and the dampness of his shirt as it clung to his back.

It had been a while since he had seen Tweek lose himself like that. To just enjoy the moment like a normal kid and make a fool of himself without his paranoia and need for tidiness kicking in and turning him into some sort of twitchy robot. Damn, but it was good to hear him laugh, even if he looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel if Kyle didn't let up soon. Just when had the redhead become best buddies with Tweek, anyway? The blonde never spoke of him beyond their lunches in school and Kyle helping him with classes; then again, the blonde was often too wary to mention school around Craig, another high-school drop out that had had potential.

The happy scene, like most happy scenes in South Park, ended so abruptly that the three by the doorway almost missed it. Kyle had been chuckling, his hands delving into the blonde's ticklish spots and avoiding Tweek's flailing limbs. That was, until the blonde twisted suddenly and Kyle stretched just a fraction too far, his laughter falling short and a gasp leaving his lips instead.

The blonde pinned beneath the suddenly stoic redhead froze, lips parting in a terrified gasp as Kyle slipped from his lap, bright green eyes suddenly blank and his face slack with pain. He whined, un-moving where he lay in the sticky mess the drying coke had become against the wood floor, fingers twitching but unwilling to go near the source of pain that was lancing through his stomach like some sick reminder that things couldn't just be easy for once.

Kyle groaned, slapping weakly when hands carefully slid beneath him and pulled him into the air, his eyes slamming shut when the room spun around him like some ghoulish cartoon world, before he was abruptly cushioned once more in something solid and real. This couch was becoming a far too familiar friend. Kyle glared at the vibrant red material vehemently, punching a fist against an overstuffed white cushion when another lance of pain ran through him.

"Now what did that couch ever do to you?"

"It fuckin' aggravates me." Kyle hissed, turning his sulking glare on Butters when the blonde dropped onto the seat with him and scooted him back so that he could check on the wounds hid only beneath one square of medical gauze.

Kenny rolled up the sleeves of his hoody with a snort, crouching before his furious friend. "Not the couch's fault you went and tried your hand at wrestling with a fucked up stomach, now, is it?" he raised an eyebrow, weathering Kyle's heated glare until the shorter boy's nose wrinkled and he relented with a sigh. "No."

"Nope," Kenny nodded, glancing up when Craig dangled a damp towel before him with an expression on his scarred face that might have been dangerously close to mildly entertained. Tweek's wrist was grasped in his other hand, the blonde alternating between throwing nervous glances at Kyle's pale face and glaring down at his own sticky torso in outrageous disgust.

"Go ahead and take Blondie home to shower," Kenny spoke through a lit cigarette perched precariously on his lips, grinning at Kyle when the redhead squirmed beneath the wet towel suddenly rubbing cola from his arms. "Gunner will clean up the mess and Boss' got no need for any of us tonight. Fuck, we might even get some free time if this truce holds up."

Butters grimaced as he peered beneath the gauze, nose wrinkling at the scent of antiseptic before he assessed the wound with a happy nod. No stitches pulled then, Kyle surmised, just a warning for doing something stupid. He could have done with a few warnings like that as a kid. He watched Butters stick the bandage back down, the blonde's brow furrowed in thought.

"Much as it is nice to have South Park back to its kinda borin' self for the minute, aren't ye even a bit worried that weird devil guy is gonna go back on his word and try and take the whole place?" Butters' voice was weary, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he took the towel from Kenny and dabbed at his own sticky face with a grimace. "I know he went about gettin' an audience with Boss the right way but he was the freak who ordered Kyle be Frankenstein'd up in the first place."

"Butters!"

"No offense, Kyle," the blonde flushed, fingers twisting in his hair as he patted Kyle's still twitching torso. "But, really, though, can ye trust him not to burn our side to the ground if we let them take over surveillance of the North Park edges? Can we trust 'em not to let anyone else in?"

Take over surveillance? Kyle's brow perked, his scowl at Butters' comment filtering into curiosity. It wasn't often he was included in talk like this, being as he was an outsider. Cartman would lock him into his new bedroom sooner than answer his questions when the redhead grew overly interested in the Hell Raisers and what was happening with the truce. Hell, even Butters and Tweek hadn't mentioned a word on the events leading up to Kyle's semi-permanent residence in Knife territory, going so far as to leave the manor house whenever Kyle pushed too hard for details.

Stan's knees cracked loudly as he stood, flinging a second, wet cloth over the shoulder of his brown t shirt as he stretched his spine and sighed, "It's not really about trust, Butters. We knew we had too slick a deal here runnin' shop all by ourselves. Boss knew it, too, someone was gonna catch wind and wander in eventually. It's about the lesser of evils."

Tweek snorted, burying his face in Craig's back when Stan's eyes snapped to him. "I'd hardly call someone who's christened themselves 'Omen' as the lesser of evils."

Craig's lips twitched in an almost smile, before sliding into a grin. His silver scar stretched like a trail of water, as a part of Craig now as every other aspect of his face. "Anyone who's got balls enough to call themselves the son of the Devil kind of belongs in South Park, Blondie. It was just what we were missing. Rapists, druggies, thieves, abusive parents, backstabbers; fuck it throw in the Antichrist and we've almost got a party."

"That's a weak joke," Kyle murmured, frowning when Craig dragged a twitching Tweek from behind his back and rubbed his arm, his voice a dark, soothing sound as he bent to whisper in the blonde's ear.

"It's not a joke," Kenny ruffled Kyle's auburn curls as he stood, fingers flicking the butt of his still smoking cigarette into the ashtray placed in the centre of the coffee table. "Omen may have fucked up his welcome and gotten under Boss' skin, but he knows how to play the game and he knows now that Boss does too. We may be young, but we've experience enough and loyalty enough that we could run his gang into the ground if we really wanted to; even if it meant taking the town down with us. Omen's smart enough to know that. A truce is a truce, he'll stick by it." The blonde offered Kyle a twisted grin, white teeth flashing.

The redhead sighed, glancing down at his stomach where Butters' fingers tapped an unsteady beat. Fuck, he hoped they were right.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

"No mom... Yes, yes, no... No. No, Mom... Yes. I've got my assignments. No."

"Oh, be done with the bitch, you're giving me a headache." Eric grinned at the fiery scowl the redhead threw in his direction, green eyes livid as he kicked up a leg to send the door to the guest bedroom swinging shut with a slam. There was a brief silence, before a muffled sigh sounded through the wood and the monotonous conversation continued.

"No, mom. Yes, mom. Three bags full, mom" Cartman slanted a gaze at the wooden door, mouth drawn down in a childish sneer as he debated whether or not it was worth his while to break down the flimsy bit of wood and send the mobile phone he had given Kyle hurtling through the open window.

Why did the Jew leave the window open anyway? Every goddamn evening he came home or came upstairs to find that window flung wide to let in the chill breeze and every morning he awoke to it open once again after he had slammed it closed. Not that Kyle ever woke up while he was closing the window. Damn redhead could sleep through Armageddon and wake up refreshed.

It had almost become a thing. No matter how many hours he was gone or how many hours he spent locked in his study after Kyle had finally broken down in his kitchen, the golden eyed gang leader would always, weary or not, make his way to Kyle's room to bang shut the window that seeped cold air through his upstairs landing and glance down at the small form that would always be huddled in some way or another beneath mounds of quilt and blankets. Butters had to have been sneaking him some, Eric was almost certain he had never taken it upon himself to buy enough soft-coloured blankets and bedding to supply a human-sized hamster.

The more alarming thing that had become a thing, however, was the fact that Kyle would always have some form of dinner waiting for him in the oven. A fortnight ago, when the strange trend had begun, Eric had not called him on it. He was thankful enough not to have to cook his own or go without. When it had gone from a one-time thing to a thing that had occurred five days in a row, Eric had pulled the plate from the oven with a smart comment and had had to deal with the Jew tipping it over in his hands and locking himself away in the bathroom for two hours. Needless to say, he had kept his mouth shut after that. Cleaning oily spaghetti sauce from his kitchen tiles had been almost as much of a chore as taking care of the sticky cola patch left by Blondie in his front room.

Eric straightened, stretching out legs clad in sleek denim jeans before twisting a torso wrapped only in a white silk shirt. He could deal with these things. These things were small, harmless, made him aware of his own home and left him with a full stomach. He had even grown accustomed to these things in the three weeks Kyle had been invading his space. What he couldn't have, was the redhead's sudden drop into hysteria every time his mother called him to question his life status and demand why he had not gone back to school.

The stupid Jew was killing himself to keep up, a moron could see that. Kyle went above and beyond the allotted amount of work with the books and assignments Butters had brought him home, ignoring the blonde's strict orders to only do a bit each day to kill the boredom. Since when the hell had Kyle been known for moderation? No, he would run himself into the ground if given half the chance and his stupid bitch of a mother wasn't helping with her assumptions that her precious 'A' student son was slumping behind. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Sheila Broflovski cared more for her public image than the actual welfare for her MIA son. He had only gone and given Kyle a phone to contact her after the vulture had stormed to the Stotch household and demanded to speak to Butters via phone. Princess hadn't spoken to his parents since the incident, his father's voice screaming through the earpiece one that had been heard throughout Cartman's living room at the time. He would be surprised if Killer ever let those two near their son again.

It was an innate gift within the older community of South Park not to give a shit when it came to their children and the younger generation. Loving parents were a grand thing in theory, but when it came down to saving face Eric could safely say that ninety-nine per cent of parents in Park County would hang their own family members out to dry first. Hell, it had been the basis for the Knives. There was an abundance of neglected and abused kids in the streets of South Park and those who had a parent that cared were so twisted with isolation from anything pure or good that they were creeps in themselves. Decent creeps with morals and standards, but creeps nonetheless.

Eric himself was a prime example.

The brunette growled, dragging fingers through his un-styled brown hair before delving his hands into the pockets of his jeans to close around the cardboard box and lighter there. "C'mon Jew, drop the bitch and get dressed. I'm taking you out."

Eric smiled into his cupped hand at the sudden sound of footsteps as he lit the cigarette, flicking his lighter off when the door before him swung open to show Kyle's suspicious face. "What do you mean 'out'?"

Eric blew out a stream of white smoke, grin crooked as he watched Kyle draw back in alarm and swish a hand before his face. God the kid was a prude. "I mean out, Jew. I'm sick of you mopin' around my house and I'm sick of your fuckin' textbooks clutterin' my livin' space. We're goin' out for a meal so you can see the town isn't gonna crumble to Hell in your absence. If you're good I'll even show you that the park's still standing."

Kyle's grimace became a suspicious scowl, green eyes narrowed to dark flecks and freckled nose wrinkled. "Why now? What's in it for you?"

Eric almost laughed. His old schoolmate caught on quick to the way things worked with the big boys. Already this week he had bargained coffee for information from Tweek and played the sympathy card with Butters and Stan until the blonde had spilled whatever he knew and Gunner had had to block off his mindless chatter with a hand to his mouth. Kyle would have made a fine Knife if he wasn't so goddamn fragile from a few years easy living. Golden eyes fixed on the slender wrist braced against the door, before flicking down to an unbuttoned shirt, the barest edge of an uncovered wound visible and healing between the layers of fabric. Or maybe not.

Being brave and street wise was one thing, being capable of throwing your weight around or wielding a weapon was another and both were essential for Knives. Where Kyle was savvy in his quest to know everything that was happening around him and to understand all the corners, Eric doubted whether he would ever have had it in him to point a gun in the face of a weeping twenty year old and pull the trigger. No. His Kyle was softer than that. His Kyle was so sickly sweet and morally just, it would rot his teeth if it didn't already set Eric's blood alight thinking of ways to corrupt that innocence.

He clucked his tongue against the cigarette, beckoning with two fingers before heading on down the hall. "Call it maturity if you want; a thank you for the meals," he turned to flash a grin at the now curious face peeking out the bedroom door, "Or maybe I just want the stink of self-pity out of my house for the evening."

###

The restaurant was a fancy one. The fanciest one could get, really, in a place like South Park. Already, it was filled with well-to-do couples and round business men either passing through or staying to obverse what else they could leech from Park County and the surrounding area. How many fat men in sleek suits does it take to build a big business? Kyle snorted at his own stupid joke, earning himself a glare from Eric as the older man pulled into a parking space beside the glass windows that made up the building's front.

He had never been here, cautious not only of the prices he would be sure to find on their gilded menus but of straying too far from home for something as silly as a nice meal. Hell, if his mother knew he was setting foot in a place like this she would have gushed until her cheeks turned scarlet, regardless of the company he was keeping. Kyle turned a stony glance at the man renowned for corrupting the youth of South Park and spinning the police like worn string around his pinky. Or perhaps not. Eric Cartman cut an intimidating figure when he wasn't reverting back to old school insults to try and get a rise from the redhead.

"Are we still in Knife territory?"

Golden eyes dragged towards him, Eric humming a non-committal reply as he clicked the locks on his fancy car and placed a hand on Kyle's back to guide him forward. The redhead was decked in a pair of dark jeans that slinked to his converse-clad ankles. The shirt he wore was one Eric had bought with the redhead in mind, the dark blue fabric making that pale skin seem all the more porcelain-like. When, he had decided that it was alright to buy Kyle clothes, he wasn't exactly sure. He had simply found himself browsing one morning for a new jacket of his own and had left the shopping centre with a handful of bags filled with trousers and shirts in Kyle's colour and size. It seemed... foul in some way to allow Butters or Tweek to simply get clothes from the redhead's own home; muddying what little progress Kyle had made away from his overbearing parents and the sharp eye of the school gossip-mongers.

Not that he could keep the redhead locked away forever. No, Eric understood Kyle would eventually have to return to a life of some normality, if only to prevent the whinging in his ear when the redhead realised how much class he was missing and to prevent some of the newer police crew from taking an interest in the abrupt absence. Yes, Kyle would eventually return to school, but Eric would be damned if he left the redhead saunter off without looking back. He had made that mistake already and had paid for it with three years of separation from the fire-cracker and an all too real death threat that had almost ended Kyle with one swipe of a knife.

That could not be allowed to happen again.

Eric smiled at the woman behind the front desk, giving his name and nudging Kyle with a well-placed knee to the redhead's thigh when he didn't immediately follow and instead gaped up at the ceiling paintings and crystal chandeliers. He ignored the grumblings with a smirk as he was led to the table he had booked only last night. A four person table.

"So nice of you to finally arrive. I had begun to think you had made other arrangements."

Eric felt rather than heard Kyle's sudden bout of panic from behind him, his hand snapping out to grab the redhead's wrist and sit him firmly in his chair before he could bolt.

"Hi Kyle!"

Kyle gaped at the blonde sat across from him, his brilliant smile no doubt held steady with some help from the glass of wine clutched in his slender fingers.

"Pip."

Kyle scowled up at Eric as the brunette slipped into the chair beside him and motioned for a waiter, his cheeks flaring. How dare Eric drag him into this? He would not be a part of Cartman's goddamn games, he wouldn't! A dark chuckle severed the hate he had been mentally throwing at his old friend and brought Kyle's green eyes up to glare at the final member of the party. Scarlet eyes flashed back at him, Omen's mouth parted in a gentle smirk and his pale fingers tapered before his face as he stared at Kyle.

"I take it you were not informed about this evening, then?"

"Go fuc-!"

Kyle was cut off by the menu suddenly being brought down on his head in a sharp rap, his gasp drawing a chuckle from Pip and a narrow-eyed warning from Eric. Who the fuck did he think he was? Goddamn gang leader had another thing coming if he thought Kyle was just going to sit here like everything was all normal and swell. Wasn't Eric supposed to protect him?

"Have some wine, Kyle and try to relax, why don't you? We're not leaving anytime soon so you may as well enjoy your meal."

Kyle had a good mind to tip the ruby red wine Cartman placed in front of him over into the brunette's lap, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated just how short-lived his life would be if committed such a crime.

"Don't." Eric's growl had him sighing, nose wrinkling in a sneer of exactly what he thought of this evening. He gripped the glass a fraction too hard, feeling the fragile thing tense against his smooth palms as he brought the rim to his lips and downed the contents, successful in his endeavour to not spill a drop on the shirt Eric had flung at him an hour ago.

"You might not want to drink it so fast, friend... It is quite strong."

Kyle grimaced at the bitter aftertaste, setting the wine glass down with a satisfied sigh. Already, the edges of his panic had dimmed and the tips of his fingers had begun to numb in preparation for a lovely sensation of downright shit-facedness. Kyle was not so naive as to have never been drunk before. His nights with the boys sneaking beer from the fridge and goading the older students into buying them alcohol at the age of thirteen and fourteen were a distant but pleasant memory. If he had had any sense, he would have simpered at Kenny for beer when his boredom forced him to spend the day watching crap on TV waiting for someone to come talk to him. Yes, alcohol was a most wonderful and beautiful thing.

"How's school?" Kyle settled a smile on the blonde swathed in a thick cotton pullover and pale jeans, his backside shifting on the chair until he faced only Pip to let Eric know just how much attention he was not getting this evening. The snort of amusement from Damien was also ignored. Pip beamed at him, "school is splendid, Kyle, thank you for asking. I do miss your presence dearly, though. Study sessions with Butters and Tweek are most definitely not the same without you."

Kyle grinned, Butters had mentioned something of an awkward silence occurring every now and again since the three blondes had begun to meet without Kyle as a mediator. "I'm just such an amazing person, my absence has clearly been having a negative effect."

"And the wine is clearly having a positive effect."

Kyle glared at Eric's muttered remark, before sniffing and turning back to Pip. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough." Why did that sentence not sound as appealing as it would have done a few months ago? Come to think of it, Kyle hadn't missed school at all since Butters had been kind enough to bring home work for him to do. Since when was being stuck with Cartman more of a preference to him than being in school and achieving the grades needed to send him to a prestigious college? He was definitely losing his mind...

Eric watched the pair speak for a moment after he had ordered their food, something easing in his stomach with the way Kyle laughed and joked. He did the same with Butters and Tweek, yes, but Eric had been unsure just how deeply the little redhead had been affected by what had happened. Had Kyle been weaker or his desire to be friendly been less, Pip would have only been a reminder of the hurt Kyle had suffered through. That the redhead was going so far as to debate the merits of having missed an extended Calculus lesson with the droning Mr. Farfer, that was most definitely a good sign for Kyle's well-being.

"He's a strong one."

Eric's gaze darted forward, his golden eyes slanting as they observed the other gang leader. "He's always been strong." Eric supplied easily, drowning out the laughter of the younger men and sipping at his wine as he focused on the main reason Kyle was not re-connecting with Pip on his own. The brunette trusted this Omen about as much as he trusted Killer not to shoot someone in the ass for upsetting Princess. "I want your men out of that school before I let him back in."

"Man," Omen corrected, leaning back to allow the waiter to place his food before him at the same time that Eric did. "Roo is there to guard Pip, no other reason. The school is on neutral grounds, I'm within my rights to have that."

Eric made a sound of contemplation as he set his glass down, glancing to make sure the other pair had been served and were once again engaged in conversation. Kyle's ears were no doubt beginning to buzz with the speed he had consumed the wine. He had never been able to hold his drink. "A compromise then. I have two in that school at the moment, neither of whom require a guard. I do, however, have a new recruit a few grades below that has my trust and backing. He's young and inexperienced, but he's got a straight connection with me if anything goes wrong. You take your man out and I'll put Pip on his list to protect."

Omen seemed to contemplate that, his red eyes narrowing and his mouth pulling down in thought. "You would guarantee no prejudice against my Pip? He would be observed as often as your Kyle? I don't need a guard dog, or someone that'll cause a scene if Pip is hassled. I need only be contacted should something occur. As the treaty states, what I choose to do if my own is threatened is my own business."

"I don't breed jackals," Eric grinned a sharp smile, stabbing his food before catching the glint of humour in Omen's eye. "I create weapons. Whatever weapon my boy needs to be, that's what he'll be. You have my word you'll be contacted and the treaty will not be broken. Even if it's a new recruit of my own, they are yours to punish if they harm your people and vice veersa."

Omen hummed, twisting his fork into his own food before glancing over in time to see Pip down the glass of wine at Kyle's encouragement. "You are a bad influence," Damien pointed his knife at Kyle, grinning when the redhead glanced at him blearily before his lips tilted in a cocky smile. A bad influence, but a temptation nonetheless and who was he to deny Pip such a friendly temptation?

Omen nodded once, placing his silverware aside for the moment to reach out a hand that Eric readily grasped, the leader's eyes flashing satisfaction. "Deal."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

The woman growled, fingers furious as they tapped over the keyboard of her laptop, her back hunched as she glared at the computer screen, before leaning back in her chair with a groan and a crack to her tense spine. Rita Hanihen was in a foul humour.

Not that there were many days when the thirty-five year old police woman was exactly pleasant to be around, but she had her brighter days and this was certainly not one of them. The rain had begun to fall as evening darkened into night, a gentle shower at first that added to the dark cloud above her head but it had soon rolled over into a mini storm, clattering against the office window.

Rita sighed, fingers digging against her eyelids as she kicked her legs out beneath her desk. It was about time to call it a night. With things seeming to have settled down on their own as things so often did in South Park, there was nothing left to do but paperwork and speculation. There was a new gang that had clashed with the pre-existing cretins that ruled over this shitty place, that little fact was about the only one that the police force could easily agree on. The torment and destruction that had followed in their wake was like all street violence she had seen in her years as an officer, albeit with enough brutality in what the fuckers believed was symbolism that it had turned even her hardened stomach. She'd never get the picture of that kid crucified like a fucking puppet out of her head for as long as she lived. Not to mention the sixteen year old girl that had gotten caught in the crossfire and ended up abandoned across the main road an inch from death. These fuckers cared about no one and nothing other than their precious status and bringing down whoever stood in their way. If she could only find one thing... One stray forgotten misdeed linked with a known member of the Knives, she would tear them all down with her bare hands.

But they were clean!

Eric Cartman, the man more rumour than person with a collection of horror stories that both repulsed and intrigued her. How could a monster like that be roaming around the place with a record as painfully blank as a fresh sheet of paper? Where the hell were all the stories coming from if not from real life happenings? Where the hell were the end results of the violence and the evidence of gang activity beyond a few shady symbols etched into properties, mysterious fires, and a few dead bodies of people nobody knew or cared about? It was like the kid had a goddamn clean sweeper attached so firmly to his backside that nothing discriminating could tag onto him. Hanihen knew that fucker was behind the recent vandalism and the four innocent victims still in hospital, just as surely as she knew that it was his doing that had stopped it all and dropped the town back into this sense of false peace; she just could not fucking prove it!

"Damn it all!" she shouted.

"Fuck, Hanihen, bit of warning before you explode into one of your hissy fits, ya?"

The woman cast an angry scowl at the red haired police officer sat across the office from her, one of the few late-night officers still working through his hours.

"I don't get it, Yates. How the fuck do they do it?"

The middle aged man blinked up at her, his brow furrowed and his eyes bright beneath the glasses he wore. He was one of the original police force that had once been charged with watching over Park County, he had even once been a sergeant, if Hanihen remembered correctly. Why he had lost that title was unknown to her, nor did she care. Like more than half the men that made up the police force now, Yates was dated at best, their minds ill-equipped to deal with whatever seedy underbelly was rotting this city to the core; in her opinion. The only truly honest police work she had seen in her six years at Park County Police Station had been carried out by new transfers eager to nab anyone so much as wielding a butter-knife in the streets. Though that eagerness was quickly and conveniently tempered down with the stories of that God forsaken gang. It was all too fucking convenient. 

"Why is it," Hanihen continued, ignoring the intern when he ambled through the wide, open space to head towards the photocopier, his lips quirked in a tuneless hum, "that whenever something to do with that fucking gang crops up on the radar, the focus is put on everything else and there is not one fucking hair to link them to a scene. Why is that, hmm?"

Yates frowned, pushing his paperwork to one side and reaching for a cup of, no doubt, cold coffee. "The gang is a group of teenagers, Hanihen, you know that. They don't do any harm that we've seen evidence of. What happened the last few weeks was down to hooligans passing through, like Sergeant Williams said." He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at the foul taste, rubbing behind one lens of his glasses at his eye, "It was fairly obvious with those new symbols and the ruckus they caused all over the place, but with everything pretty much settlin' down, it's safe to say that they've had their delinquent fun and have moved on. Back to normal."

"Normal?" Hanihen snorted, kicking her boots against the floor as she stood to grab her laptop case, her mouth tense as she packed the thing away, "I wouldn't call this place fucking normal. There's something up with that gang and you lot are turning a blind eye to it. Fuck, I'll bet even the intern can see what you fuckers are denying to yourselves. Right, kid? How long have you been here now, two... three years?"

The younger man ceased his humming, his leather glove-clad hands stopping in their shuffling through the warm paper to run once through his styled, blonde hair. When he turned, it was with a gentle pat to his orange shirt and a smile filled with pearly white teeth. "Three years, ma'am. I am a transfer from up state and believed my final few years would be better spent in a growing city rather than a fully established one. I do admit, I find this remote setting quite fantastic, it is as pretty as when I came here as a child."

Hanihen paused, eyes scanning over the kid's pristine brown trousers and freshly pressed silk shirt. He was immaculate, far too much so to be someone you could fall easily into trust with, but that could have just been her cynicism. He spoke with a refined accent that declared an English heritage, elegant and fluid.

"You grew up here?"

"Not so much, ma'am," the intern grinned once more, flicking his gloved hands against the sheets that had finished printing and sliding the copies beneath his arm, "I attended school here for a bit at a young age, quite the adventure that was. Sadly, my family moved not long after. Once I learned there was an opening for an intern three years ago, I jumped at the chance, naturally."

Hanihen pulled the zip on her laptop case closed, slinging it over her shoulder with a thoughtful gleam to her eye. "So, you know the kids of this place then? You were... friendly with them?"

"Friendly being a loose term," the blonde chuckled, his teeth still gleaming in that bright smile and his brown eyes locked with her own. There was something off about the kid, that was for sure; though whether it was his strange sense of style or his open easiness that had her stumped, Hanihen did not know. What she saw before her now was a possible chance to get into the lion's den; a plausible bait to tempt trust and information from the younger people of South Park, and maybe a few Knives.

"What would you say to being put on a proper job? None of the shit you do around here, but a real mission. I could talk to Serge, get you into the High School. You're young enough to pass for nineteen, right? You don't look a day over twenty."

"Hanihen..." Yates' voice had her scowling at the older officer, his tone gruff with warning. "You're not puttin' the goddamn intern on a wild goose chase 'cause you're flustered by a bunch of damn kids runnin' around under the guise of a street gang. It's nothin' but rumours and idle threats to keep kids straight and off the streets, we always catch the actual bad guys from outta town. Go home or I'll send a complaint to Williams."

The woman snarled, whipping around to stalk from the room with thunderous steps, unaware that she had been followed. She had reached the bottom of the steel staircase as the sound of light-footed steps reached her ears, the boy behind her humming an upbeat little number. She whirled, furious eyes landing on the blonde haired intern with the easy smile that stood behind her. He held one hip cocked against the railing, his gloved hands folded across his slender chest as he watched her.

"What do you want, kid? Look, I shouldn't have said anything. I just know something's going on with that gang and I know they've got this whole damn police force stamped into submission. It doesn't matter though, I'll figure it out on my own."

The blonde made a noise akin to a purr, lips softening to a smirk. "No, you are most definitely not going to be cowed by your pals in the force, are you Officer Hanihen? You are a much stronger woman than I gave you credit for and I can see now that you will stop at nothing to tear apart that gang one by one. You will not be satisfied until you do, am I correct in assuming?" He was taking each step down with a slow bounce, his brown eyes locked on Hanihen in a way that almost had her fingers itching for her gun. Damn, but this boy gave her the creeps.

"What of it, kid? You gonna rat me out to Williams or try to tell me I'm being stupid? I know this gang is running this town and it's not right. They need to be put in their place."

"And you'll be the one to do that, will you, ma'am?"

Hanihen watched him glance upwards in thought, tapping one finger against his pale cheek before he grinned once more, nodding. "I can see you are a much better police officer than the lot upstairs. I agree with you." He said suddenly, his grin stretching when Hanihen relaxed a fraction. "The Knives do run this town and I agree with you that they are responsible for every little thing that happens. You alone, however, will not be enough to withstand them. I do believe, Officer, that you would benefit most from meeting a most loyal friend of mine. He might have some... interesting information."

Hanihen hesitated, her instincts dull beneath the layer of charm this boy laid on thick and his genuine honesty that he believed what she was talking about. Could he help her? Would he know someone with an in with the Knives that could lead her to taking them down? Hell, at this point, anything was worth a shot. She sighed with a firm nod, crossing her arms before her chest and eyeballing the blonde.

"What's your name, kid?"

"My name, ma'am, is Gregory and it would be my pleasure to help you get exactly what you're looking for."

###

Eric ran his tongue across his teeth, pressing the end call button of his mobile without a word to the speaker, before glancing over at the boy sat rigidly in the passenger seat. The redhead had been silent since dinner had ended, his only farewell to Damien a well-placed sneer over Pip's shoulder as he hugged the blonde. Which, of course, was exactly as it should be. Kyle would never fear Omen or his Hell Raisers again so long as Eric was behind him.

"Have you taken a vow of silence, Jew? As pleasing as it would be to my ears, you know Princess would never go for it."

"I'll happily talk to Butters, and stop calling me fuckin' Jew, Cartman" was Kyle's grumbled response, his lips pouting out in a small scowl as Eric pulled the car into his own driveway and flipped the locks. It was clear the boy was still sour at him for the surprise dinner guests, his face dark with a childish sulk and his eyes full of fire. The redhead got out without another word, his curls flattening beneath the heavy downpour of rain as Eric flipped the hood of his own jacket with a roll of his eyes. Trust Kyle to want to get pneumonia rather than put on the jacket Eric had bought for him.

The door was open, meaning Princess had been around recently; no doubt to leave a fresh bandage on Kyle's bedside locker. It was a fallback now rather than a necessity, the wounds of Kyle's stomach having healed enough not to tear and the stitches almost dissolved. Eric followed Kyle through the entryway, swinging shut the door behind him and turning the key to close off the sound of the wind and the rain that hammered away outside.

"I needed to see your reaction."

Kyle scowled down at him from the staircase, his soaking hair plastered to his skull with a sleekness Eric knew only existed when it was wet. His green eyes glared even in the dim light. "Well, gee!" the redhead snarled sarcastically, "thanks for the nightmares!"

"You haven't had nightmares in a week."

Well hell, Kyle halted once more on the steps, his brow drawing down in a frown. Had he not? His mind ran over the previous week, memories of boredom and the hours spent with his friends and the empty spaces when Cartman wasn't around. No, no nightmares. In fact, he had been sleeping soundly for about eight nights. But how would Cartman know that? The creep. Most of all, why was that even a point? Just because he was not having nightmares now didn't mean that seeing that man's face was on his top five list of things he really wanted to do. 

"That's not the point, Cartman," Kyle continued on up the stairs with a sigh, his steps heavy with the water now weighing down his now too-skinny jeans and sticking the shirt uncomfortably to his stomach. He grimaced at the sensation, his fingers not hesitating to unbutton the shirt as he made his way down the hall to his own room.

"What is the point then?"

Kyle hissed through his teeth in fright, swinging around to find Eric leaning against his open door. He hadn't even heard the big lug come up the stairs behind him. Kyle watched him cross his big arms over a shirt half-drenched with rain water, his brown hair loose about his shoulders. Fuck, if the image wasn't one that made Kyle's stomach do a flip. It wasn't the first time, nor would he doubt it would even be the last time he felt a pulse of heat for the man. His hatred for his long-time rival had morphed so subtly and so dangerously into something that set his cheeks ablaze that Kyle felt weaker than he had in his entire life.

"Well?"

Cartman's voice was low, demanding an answer. His dark eyebrows drew down over golden eyes that were fixed on Kyle and Kyle alone. Why the hell did he have to be so intense? Why was it Kyle was left to deal with the effect that intensity, that once immature and hateful rage tempered into an unfamiliar rush of something... heated... beneath his skin. When the hell had Cartman become something to fear? Something to... 

Fuck.

"I'm waiting for your answer, Kyle." Eric's voice was a growl, dark and vicious and demanding. "This evening was to see whether that fucker had broken you. This evening was for you to get over your goddamn fear that has you holed up in this house like a petrified rabbit. What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? You've been so squashed by this shit-hole of a town, by that bitch of a mother of yours, you've lost all your fucking backbone."

"Don't you call my mother a bitch, Cartman!" Kyle whispered furiously in the tense hallway, his hands clenching into fists by his sides as he spat up at the taller man. "You don't fuckin' know me! Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that! It's your fuckin' fault I'm in this mess!"

"No, it's your own goddamn fault, Kyle!" Eric hissed. A hand was on his throat so suddenly Kyle could barely react enough to gasp, the long fingers squeezing once as Eric walked the small redhead backwards into his bedroom. The walls were dark in here and Cartman's fingers were scorching, Kyle had only a moment to realise, before his knees hit the wooden bed-frame and his body buckled to the soft sheets. "I know you better than anyone," the brunette spoke in a dark voice, his arms dropping to either side of Kyle's head as the boy flattened himself back in fright. Eric was terrifying, a thing from nightmares that loomed darker than the shadows thrown across the walls, and Kyle had never felt weaker in his life as heat swooped low in his belly. 

"I know you better than Stan. Better than Kenny. Better than Butters." His body leaned over Kyle's, trapping him on that bed in his shadow, caging him away. Green eyes were bright with fear and something sinful, the redhead's breath a panicked, frantic thing against his parted lips as Eric's voice kept him frozen where he lay. "I know who the fuck you are and this timid little lamb shit you're trying to pull is not you. You think I don't know what you're doing? You think I don't understand that you're fucking terrified to leave this place? Trust me, Kyle, I know. I know you think I'm going to cast you out on the streets. I know you think I'm gonna forget about you and turn my back like you did to me. And it would serve you fucking right if I did."

Kyle gasped, his eyes flicking from side to side as Eric's words dug against the walls he had built for himself to hide away from it all. All the nightmares, the pain of being permanently marked, the panic of where his life was going, of who he could turn to or trust. Eric's words destroyed them all, crawling against Kyle's skull until there was nothing there but the man above him and the shadow he cast across Kyle's face. The fear he felt underneath the man was new, incredible and delicious enough to part his lips further on the quietest of whimpers. This was not the fear of being nothing... Nothing more than a message, a stupid fool in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was not fear Kyle had ever felt before in his life... This was the sharp, sickly sweet fear of taking everything he was... And giving it to the golden-eyed monster above him. 

"You forget one thing, though." Eric leaned against him, his weight dropping between the redhead's legs and Kyle let his thighs spread as though there was no more natural place in the world for Cartman to be, a tentative groan gasping from his throat. 

"You're fucking mine, Kyle."

Lips descended on his own gasping mouth, Eric's tongue pushing through and rolling against his own until a bubble of a moan broke from him like something had snapped. Kyle was suddenly panting, his hands flying up to twist into light brown hair and dragging those lips closer, sucking at the tongue in his mouth as though it was the only real thing left to him. He drew back with a gasp for air, groaning when Eric allowed him only a split second before attacking his lips once more, his teeth biting down on the redhead's bottom lip until a keen of pained pleasure spilled from him. Pressed against the bed with Eric's arms caging him in and Eric's mouth his only lifeline, Kyle felt as though he had been set alight; his blood molten where it pulsed beneath his skin. Eric owned him. He had always owned him. In the stupid fights and hateful comments, the grasp he held over the younger boy even after so many years was terrifying. He held over him a complete and absolute control that Kyle had been fighting off and fighting for his entire life. 

He belonged to Eric.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

There were times when Butters hated Kenny.

He hated the blonde's self satisfied smirk. He hated the way Kenny would flirt as though it was as natural to him as saying hello. He hated his natural good looks that drew women and men in like a moth to a flame and lit an emerald-green pit of jealous fire in Butters' stomach. He hated the way Kenny would put him on a pedestal and burn with fury for those who had once tried to hurt him. He hated knowing Kenny would slice his dad's throat without so much as flinching if Mr. Stotch ever raised a hand to strike Butters again. He hated the way his mother grew quiet in Kenny's presence because Butters knew the woman had been threatened multiple times for spitting hurtful words at him. He hated that he held so much power over the other man. Most of all, though, Butters hated that Kenny never put his washing in the goddamn laundry basket.

"You!" Butters hissed as the sound of a door slamming shut rang through the house followed by his lover's cheerful, unsuspecting whistling. "You said you'd do better!" The small blonde struggled up from where he had been kneeling, picking up the discarded underwear and pajamas strewn about the bathroom floor since last night. He all but flew down the pastel green corridors and softly carpeted stairs, a shriek of rage leaving him as he bounced from the third step up and tackled Kenny's wide eyed form to the ground.

"Alright!" Kenny shrieked as a wet sock was slapped against his face, mouth pulling taut in a grimace that was fast becoming a smile despite his best efforts. "I give, I give! I'm sorry! I'll do the fucking laundry!"

"Hah!" Butters crowed, his sharp knees digging into the blonde's sides and drawing a groan from the man beneath him. He brandished the black sock like a weapon, his teeth bared. "As if you would even know how to work the washing machine you useless excuse for a man! What setting do you turn to for delicates, hmm? How many scoops of washing powder?"

Kenny shrieked as he was slapped again with the sock, his hands coming to rest on the slender hips of the blonde that straddled him. Butters' usually peach-tinted skin was bright pink with his rage, his pale blue eyes narrowed in as threatening a glare as the young blonde could hope to achieve with his cute, button-nosed face and decked in his floral shirt. He was perfect. Kenny felt his lips quirk in a sudden smile, his insides all but melting.

"I adore you."

Butters paused mid-rant, his bottom lip pushing out in a pout as he flung the sock down and crossed his arms. "Aw Geez, way to fight dirty, Ken." The blonde, so easily calmed and so often happy, sighed as he wiggled downwards to lie his body across the length of Kenny's, his hands resting on the taller man's narrow chest, "How am I supposed to stay mad at you with you starin' up at me all starry-eyed, you cheater. I mean it though, Ken, you gotta at least get it into the friggin' basket."

Kenny was smiling up at him, his teeth all white and shiny and his blonde hair mussed from the hood that had fallen from his head on impact. The tawny blonde locks fell about his forehead and brought an innocence to the gang member's pale face and dark blue eyes that simply should not exist there. There was nothing innocent nor pure about Kenny McCormick and it thrilled Butters to the core to know it. He adored Kenny with every ounce he had within him to love another person. He adored his cheeky grin. He adored his rude jokes and the stern protection he had woven over Butters like a safety blanket. He adored the man's ruthless attitude and tender kisses. He adored knowing that Kenny would wreak a path through Hell itself to be with him if he could. Most of all, though, most of all, Butters adored Kenny for choosing and loving him when no one else had.

###

People were staring.

Actually, it had gone passed and beyond the point of openly staring and become outright bland gaping at the sight of one Kyle Broflovski walking into Calculus class and looking for all the world like his three or so weeks MIA act had been nothing more than a short vacation with no visible travesties to show for it.

But that couldn't be right.

People didn't just up and leave school unless it was to get the hell out of South Park, get in deep with the town's darker side or turn up dead on the local news. It simply wasn't done. Which was why, Kyle assumed, his sudden presence in the corridors had caused an almost standstill. He should have turned up dead after the first week missing. When that didn't happen, he had most surely been written off as one of the Knives after the spectacle that had been Eric Cartman marching into the school and leading away Pip, a boy people had only just begun to suspect might be a member of the newer gang now ruling half of Park County's streets; though the students would sooner sew their own lips together rather than spew about the possibility, in case it landed them with a well placed bullet in the temple. You did not go around mouthing off in South Park without consequences, especially if you were just an ordinary High schooler with no back up.

The redhead sighed into another heavy silence as he dropped himself into his usual desk, fingers working against his eyelids to stave off the beginnings of what was sure to be one almighty headache. What would they be like if they knew he had spent the night swapping spit with one of the scariest fuckers in all of South Park?

"Jesus," Kyle groaned, dragging one hand through his unruly curls before slamming it down on the desk hard enough to draw a scream from the staring brunette to his left. "Can I fucking help any of you?" Kyle snarled as he twisted in his front seat, glare darting from one open-mouthed blank stare to the next until the tension seemed to break into whispers and scandalised looks. As if he had been the one in the wrong for not condoning their goddamn curiosity.

"I am alive, I am not a Knife, I am not gonna turn up in a goddamn body bag. I have been sick so if you vultures wouldn't mind filling your empty heads with some other useless gossip, that'd be great!"

"Rough mornin', buddy?"

Kyle ignored the venomous glares, his hands slinking forward on the desk to drape himself across it in a manner he was prone to do when his thoughts were in chaos. He glanced through one open eye at the blonde that scooted his own desk closer, one hand already lifted to ruffle through his red curls. Probably the only other hand he would allow ruffle through his curls when he was upset. "Morning Butters."

Butters grinned, his hands vanishing for a split second to dig through his bag before planting a bottle of water and silver foil in front of the red head. "I was gonna get you to take that this mornin' but by the time I woke Boss said he'd already dropped you off here. I was gonna get Kenny to drive us and all he's got some good music in his car. Sorry I slept in, though, I don't usually! How you feelin' Kyle?"

He swamped the familiar painkiller with a sigh of relief, shaking his head. "Like I wanna go back to bed and not have to deal with shit anymore. I've been in this school two hours and I'm already sick of it, Butters. It's... different. I guess it just doesn't seem so important anymore..."

The blonde cast him a wary glance seconds before the teacher shuffled in, shooting them all a glare in the name of seeming strict. There was a brief moment as Kyle was bending down to root a copy from his bag, when Butters squeezed his hand, his lips softening in a smile. "Coming from you, Kyle, that's just about the strangest thing I've ever heard."

###

"Where's Tweek?"

Butters ripped the crusts from his packed sandwiches, flicking them from the bench in small scraps that were delved upon by the surrounding pigeons Kyle was certain lived in the school roof. "I called on him this morning but all I got when the door opened was some real loud music screeching in the background and Ghost flippin' me off." Butters rolled his eyes, his fingers working slowly to flatten the bread he held as though it were a nervous habit, "that guy's got the personality of a dry twig, I swear it. My guess is, though, that Tweek had another nightmare last night and Ghost doesn't like him to be around others when that happens."

"Does he often suffer from nightmares, the poor lad?" Pip had joined Butters in his game of feeding the fluffy birds, crumbling his biscuits in one messy handful and tossing them down before rubbing the crumbs onto what was likely a very expensive pair of black slacks. The blonde, however, seemed virtually indifferent to whether they would become ruined or not. Kyle watched him search for another crumble-able food source in his bag from where his face was perched atop his own hands.

"Sometimes," the red head pursed his lips, his foot sliding from beneath the outside bench to shoo away a rather hefty bird that had strayed too close. The indignant look it cast him almost reminded him of a young Cartman. "He's got a bit of an overactive imagination and every time Craig cuts off his coffee to make him sleep better he gets these bouts of nightmares. I don't think his relationship with his parents was the healthiest either. Don't you get nightmares?"

Pip glanced back at Kyle, a furrow between his brows and a visible twitch of unhappiness to his mouth. "Of course, I suppose everyone does at one point or another, right? Damien would never dare cut off my tea supply, though, regardless of how active my imagination was being. He would be a most unfortunate chap if he even tried."

Butters chuckled a hearty laugh, clapping his hands clean and patting Pip's outstretched hand where it lay across the cold table top. "Trust me, buddy, I'd be the same way about hot chocolate if my man tried to cut me off. I think I'd have to kill him in his sleep..."

Their laughter cut off quickly as a spindly form suddenly descended on their table, the person jumping from the tree overhead to land black boots loudly against the old wood of the weather-beaten bench, drawing a startled shriek from Pip and Kyle, and a glare from Butters.

"What's wrong with you, Firkle? Don't be jumping out of trees at people!"

The younger teenager aimed something of a grin at Butters, black-painted lips drawing in a sweet smile even as his pale eyes sought out first Pip and then landed on Kyle. The youth's head cocked to one side, his flattened black hair falling over one eye as he stretched out a hand holding a folded note of crisp white paper. "Your brother says it's about time you got your lazy ass back to school."

Kyle glared at the somewhat familiar kid, snatching the note from his pale hand, "and just who the hell are you to my brother, huh? Weren't you that kid who hung out with the Goth girl?" The paper in his hand was a piece of notebook paper, folded twice and bearing none other than Ike's bold script when Kyle opened it up.

~Have you confessed undying love to your long-time sweetie yet and, if so, are you moving out and can I have your play station? P.S. If not, you might want to get a move on with that, I've already started redecorating your room~

"God damn shithead, Ike!" Kyle snarled, his cheeks hot enough to let him know that he was more than likely a most unattractive shade of red. Ike had always been too much of a fucking know it all for his own good. Who else but Ike fucking Broflovski would put two and two together before Kyle himself had a chance to even begin to work out his weird ass feelings? Pain in his ass. The redhead shook his head, crumpling the note in one fist and squinting his eyes up at the Goth kid sat cross-legged on the bench before him. Ike was too much of a weirdo to even be remotely cowed or impressed by a dangerous gang like the Knives, so what was this kid's deal? A friend of his?

If Kyle remembered right, this was Henrietta's pal; Fykle or Finkle or whatever the hell Butters had called him. Kyle knew well that the Goth girl was one of Eric's chess pieces, having seen her only the other day sitting on the bonnet of Stan's car as she fired question after question at his black haired friend. If she had been a Knife all this time, chances were that this boy was one also; though why Cartman would condone a teenager that young possibly screwing up his assignments, Kyle had no idea. Pale eyes stared down at him, apathetic though his lips held something of a smirk. Who the hell was this kid?

"Are you a friend of Ike's?"

"Of a sort." Was the boy's cryptic response, his fingers tugging the sleeves of his black jumper down and over his hands as he allowed his eyes to wander over Pip again. "Pipsqueak." He spoke with a short nod of his head.

The blonde startled at the nickname, green eyes flicking towards the young boy. Firkle, however, gave him no chance to reply. He slid from the bench, twisting his skinny frame with a satisfying crack of his spine. He had been told to observe, not to become buddies with South Park High's new favourite gossip of the week and hearing Omen's terms over the phone last night after the Boss had patched him through had been chilling enough without having to converse with the man's pretty English boy toy. He flicked his gaze back to Kyle's suspicious eyes, a nerve-wracking feature Ike had no doubt acquired from the years of being Kyle Broflovski's baby brother. That was some glare the pair of them could brandish.

"I dunno who you are to Ike, kid, but you had better not be dragging him into something bad." The redhead scooted forward on the bench seat, cupping his chin once more in his hands. "That kid isn't as hardcore as he pretends to be." Kyle suddenly scowled, "and you tell him he can shove the play station up his butt for all I care so long as he doesn't tell Mom I'm not really staying with Butters."

Firkle held his composure by the skin of his teeth, his lip trembling as he offered the redhead a swift salute and a snapping smile before trekking away, his good deed done for the day. His job was an easy one; keep an eye on Boss' guy and the other gang's Pipsqueak, butt in only if they're about to get the shit kicked out of them and always call Boss first. An easy job, he had assumed, one that would not take much from his day and wouldn't lead to him having to actually speak to anyone. If Ike was going to have him become some messenger boy, though, the lanky fucker had another thing coming. He spoke to people when he wanted to, on his terms and usually after a carton of low-grade, cheap cigarettes.

The bell shrilled across his skull, the sound jarring him from his thoughts and bringing a sigh from his lips as he turned around to trudge back towards the school. He had not exactly joined the Knives to become a babysitter. True, Butters was a sweetie-pie, probably the easiest conformist to talk to in this stupid town and someone whose general cheer was so genuine, you couldn't help but smile with it. Firkle could almost go so far as to say that maybe Kyle and Tweek were okay guys too, one so much of a twitchy weirdo he was practically a social pariah and the other never one to follow the regular flow of school despite being a top-notch intelligence nerd. Kyle's sense of humour kind of reminded him of Henrietta now that he thought about it...

"Hello, Superman."

Firkle hissed a frightened breath from between his teeth, his one visible eye widening as he was suddenly spun on the spot by a pair of hands clasping at his hips. He was dragged from the school entrance and against the side wall with an elegance that spoke of either years of dance classes or natural grace. The cold stone of the side of the building pressed against his back before his mind could even begin to think on the defensive, his arms coming up far too late to block off an attack. Boss would have fucking killed him if he had seen. "Tsk," a disappointed sigh sounded by his ear, "much too slow. You'll need to work on your technique, Superman, you could have just been viciously attacked by a fourteen year old."

"You scared the crap out of me, Ike" Firkle rolled his eyes, pushing aside Ike's lanky form when the younger boy snickered a dry laugh. One slim arm came to rest around his shoulders, drawing him close to a warm body decked in layers of chequered pink and inky black.

"Or maybe you'd like to be viciously attacked by a fourteen year old?"

Firkle flushed, his lips tilting in a lopsided smile despite the mess that had quite suddenly become his stomach, a twisted knot of nerves and embarrassment. "Get off, fool," he chuckled, leaning on his tip toes to swat at Ike's black suede hat, "we are in school and school is out of bounds, I told you this already, Ike... Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

The taller boy snorted, straightening his hat with a flourish of his sleeveless arms and catching the silver lock he wore on a chain around his neck to swing it idly, "You are absolutely no fun, Firkle," the younger of the boys sighed, bracing one hand against the stone wall to all but loom over the Goth's skinny frame, "how is Kylie-kins anyway, do I have a new bedroom or has the loser chickened out with his old pal Eric?"

"You know, you're like one of the only people in South Park who still calls him that in public."

"As opposed to what? You-Know-Who? He's not fuckin' Voldemort."

Firkle gasped, clapping his hands over his mouth in mock terror and drawing a lazy grin from the youth. The smaller boy grinned, tucking his fringe behind one ear to peer up at Ike with a view unobstructed. "Your brother said you can shove the console up your butt for all he cares so long as you don't let your mom know that he has been staying with Boss, not Butters. Considering that I've been ordered to pack a bag of his stuff when I go to yours for dinner tomorrow, I'd safely say the Boss has no intentions of letting him home anytime soon, if he even wants to go home."

"Why, Superman," Ike purred, tapping one brightly polished nail against the older boy's chin, "one would think you were simply using my gracious offer of a family meal out of convenience for your boss-man. I'll have none of that. One more bag of belongings, then Eric can go find some other way to move Kyle in with him, even if it means telling Mom, which they will have to do eventually. I'll not be used and abused by you no-good Knives."

"I would never use you, Ike."

Firkle's soft words drew a feral grin from the youth, his lips spreading over snow white teeth seconds before he dropped his face to plant his lips against the Goth's worried grimace, one hand reaching to cup the boy's chin and hold him steady. Ike licked against the sudden groan that parted Firkle's lips, dragging one nail against the soft flesh of his throat as he drew back.

"Oh, trust me, Superman, I know."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Kyle winced, dragging the phone away from his ear and casting a sorrowful glance towards the white ceiling of the sitting room he was growing all too familiar with. His mother's voice could be heard despite the newfound distance, shrill and vicious through the fuzzy speaker as Kyle all but pleaded with whatever deity it was looking down on him to simply end the phone call.

It wasn't that he didn't want to speak to his mother. He loved his mother, she was a strong woman capable of thinking her mind and guiding her children with a firm hand when her husband slacked off to drink with his buddies. If anything, Kyle felt nothing but respect for his mother. That respect, however, had been wearing thinner and thinner with each passing evening that he had spent away from home and had had to endure phone-call after relentless phone-call of when he was going to stop acting like a child.

Kyle understood her opinion, really he did. By his mother's accounts he had spent the last three and some weeks finding his own feet in Butters' house. That Butters was known to be living in what was recognised by every parent in South Park as official gang territory was something that simply was not spoken of whenever Sheila Broflovski was on the phone. It was a fact better left unsaid so long as the still-attending-school Butters was in the picture. Kyle had little doubt that it would be a very different story had his mother known that it was under Eric Cartman's roof he had been squandering away his days.

"Kyle... Kyle! Are you even listening to me? Are you enjoying your bachelor lifestyle so much that you don't even have time to listen to your mother, who is worried sick about your future? Kyle!"

Kyle felt his lips drag down in what he was sure must be one pathetic frown, his hand firmly reattaching the phone to his ear. "No, mom, I'm listening. I know you're worried and I'm sorry but I really did need the space. Butters has been very good to me and I'm keeping up with my work, I promise."

If keeping up with his work consisted of completing his assignments in record time and zoning out the teachers he had once paid rapt attention to. He knew the stuff, Christ, he was smarter than half the kids that would be graduating with him. He could ace a test without a previous night's study and could sit his exams even if he chose to spend the next three months confined only to the library with no assistance. There was a reason Kyle had thrown himself into after-school study, a reason he was so known for being a bookworm and the last person one would invite for a night out.

What the hell else had he to do with his time but work until his brain leaked out his ears and he had memorised texts that were above and beyond the criteria for his hour long class periods? It wasn't as though every spare minute could have been spent soaking in the chill sunlight by a pond when you lived in a place as rough as his hometown. It wasn't as though he had friends beyond Butters and Tweek and those two had been whipped away after study periods before he could even suggest they come back to his to help stave off the loneliness.

It ate away at him like a fucking rapid dog. Every spare moment since he had become nothing more than an obligation meet-up with Stan and Kenny had been like dousing himself in ice cold water again and again. The turned backs and wary looks and hushed conversations, from once open friends, that could never include him because... Well he had wanted nothing to do with the gang, and he had gotten his wish. Even if it had brought with it a deep rooted loneliness that stole his breath away. He had wanted nothing to do with the Knives, that was true. It had not been as though he knew just how much that meant he was going to lose until it was long gone. He had been the saddest, loneliest fucker in the whole stupid town and no one had even cared beyond Butters and Tweek's sudden appearance at his lunch table and a fraction of inclusion that had gotten him passed the gossip that seemed to be the only foundation the student body had to stand on. He could not go back to that. He could not go back home and let that loneliness come back. Fuck, he had almost had damn heart failure two nights ago when he believed Cartman was going to throw him out and send him back home. And that he had even missed fucking Cartman? That alone spoke of how fucking friendless he had felt these past few years. Friendless and alone. 

"... Your exams are only three months away. You should be at home studying, not off gallivanting with the boys at this moment in your life! Do you know how important your results are! College is everything, Kyle and your record has to be immaculate! How to you expect to become a successful lawyer like your father if you're missing a week here and there on a whim and living with the Stotch boy! Not to mention the rumours it could cause, Kyle dear, you know Butters is known for being rather... flamboyant. Your reputation could be at stake here. I mean, honestly Kyle..."

His mother's voice was fast becoming a soundtrack to the bleak memories and certain panic that had become his usual. What fucking reputation had he had before he had gone and gotten himself gutted? The school bookworm? The genius Jew who cooped himself up in his room and got dropped by his own friends? The sad little loner that Butters had to take under his wing? God, what sort of reputation was that? He had been a fucking nobody, the only good thing going for him had been his brain and even that seemed so fucking stupid right now. How the fuck could college be everything when his gut was shrieking that Cartman's mouth against his had felt like a pretty fucking big everything all on its own. Hell, even Omen's brand seemed minuscule in comparison to the kiss that had been ripped from him. What the fuck was the point of Algebra and Shakespeare's Hamlet in the mix of all that craziness?

"Kyle I am talking to you! You won't get into a good college if you start slacking off now and then where will you be? Certainly not living and freeloading off of me for the rest of your life. I love you, Kyle, but I will not let you throw your life away so young! You need to come home and get on track to getting into a good law school..."

The phone was suddenly snatched from his hand, Sheila's voice cutting off with a sharp snap as Kyle blinked open eyes that felt red and raw. When had he closed his eyes? Eric stood before him, a glare twisting his mouth as he bounced the little phone harmlessly off the couch seat, his brown hair pulled back in a loose tie and his arms crossing stiffly over his broad chest.

"If you don't learn how to tell the bitch to mind her own business, Kyle, I will take the phone off you."

"Don't call my mother a bitch, Cartman." Kyle's response was half-assed at best, his shoulders slumping as he dropped into the loveseat, hands swiping tiredly at his face. What the hell was the matter with him? What was he doing here, waltzing around someone else's home like it was his own? What was he thinking, living with Eric Cartman of all fucking people and for what? So that he could pretend the Knives wasn't real? So that he could have his friends back without having to deal with what was going on in their lives? He couldn't do this... He had to go home... His mother was right, he was being an idiot. There was nothing for him here.

"You're not going home."

Green eyes blinked, tired and wary and with a fraction of the disregard he had so often flaunted in front of Cartman as a child. "You can't keep people against their will, Cartman."

Eric's own golden eyes watched him, narrowed against the plume of smoke that had erupted from between his lips with his newly lit cigarette. He gripped the white stick with deft fingers, fingers that bore no rings and with fresh, peach-coloured nails that belied his years as an active smoker. He flicked the ash into the rarely lit fireplace with a practiced tip of his hand, before bringing the cigarette back once more to lips a degree too thin to be perfectly plump.

"I said, you are not going home, Kyle."

The redhead watched him, feet planted against the sitting room floor in a move any amateur would recognise as the beginning pose for taking off in a hurry. The student's jean-clad legs were braced but hesitant, as though a race was the last thing he wanted. In a black hoody and with hair un-brushed and haphazard over one bright eye, Kyle almost looked the part of the edgy, turmoil-ridden gangster he should have been after all these years.

Gangster or no, though, Eric saw his turmoil for the reality it was. Guilt-free though it was of the blood that coated the hands of his other friends, his nightmares lacking a certain brutality that would have catered well to his fiery temper and swift unease with everyone and everything around him; it existed still within him. Kyle may have walked away from them all those years ago, but that wasn't to say he had been untouched by other nightmares. Kyle was the type that drew trouble in like a big fucking magnet. Eric would know, they were one and the same. Just like Kenny drew violence and Stan drew in drama and Butters drew in people so eager to take advantage of him; so too did Eric Cartman and Kyle Broflovski draw in one big fucking mess.

"You can't keep me here, Cartman. I'm not a fucking lapdog."

No, Eric's mind purred as Kyle watched him uneasily, a lapdog would be a great deal easier to break than the spitfire of a Jew. A lapdog would hold more loyalty and friendliness towards him than the childhood buddy sat in front of him. A lapdog would be quieter. Eric's lips quirked in a humourless smile, his gaze never leaving that one green eye that glared up at him with all that mistrust and blind devotion. Because, despite his declarations of hatred and his disgust in some of the things Eric had done, despite his abhorrence of the fear Eric cast within him and the anger he stirred; Kyle was completely and utterly devoted to him. When Eric was not living his life to aggravate and antagonise his old friend, Kyle was going above and beyond to ignore the brunette or charge him head on like a bull. There existed no middle ground between them, no playing field or props to barter with because there had never been a playing field to begin with. They had been on the same tier for years, side by side their whole lives and never understanding that to push one off would mean the demise of the other.

"What's a King without his Queen?"

Omen's words were satire on Eric's blank face, his golden eyes slanting as he moved to cast his cigarette away, his legs all that Kyle could focus on as they stalked closer and closer, pushing up against the plush seats of the couch until the gentle touch of hands gripping beneath his body and lifting him upwards had him bracing his own hands against shoulders that should not have felt so familiar.

"I never liked chess." Kyle's own voice sounded odd in the silence as Eric's hands tightened around him, becoming a barrier if only for the moment for what existed beyond the house, his footsteps solid against the expensive flooring. "I always lost."

Eric chuckled, teeth sharp and white against his lips as he headed slowly up the staircase, up towards the bedroom he had had the little redhead in only the once. "That's because you never had the patience to learn the rules, you made bad decisions."

"And you make good decisions? You think you'd win?" Kyle's heart was a familiar drumbeat against his chest, a method by which to measure the painful slowness of the world around him. His hands scrambled to find purchase on the dark bedsheets that smelled so strongly of the man laying him down. Curtains drawn and cast in darkness, there was barely any light by which to even see the detail that was Eric's wicked smirk or darkened eyes.

"I always win." Eric chuckled, his hands swift and sure, a steady movement as he unclipped his belt and drew it loop from loop from his pants. Kyle watched him, knuckles clenched against the soft satin beneath him and breath a panicked thing that drew a flush of colour to his cheeks. Moments ago, he had been tensed to run; his mother's distaste fresh in his mind and holding with it all the doubts that had been creeping against his mind since he had returned to school. Now, though, now it seemed as though the phone-call had occurred so long ago, inconsequential and silly, distant despite the doubts that existed still and unimportant despite the tiny part of him that still wanted to flee.

Such a small part of himself, his breath hitched, watching through the dimly lit room as Eric unclasped each button of his crisp shirt, one by one. Such a tiny part of himself that still held doubt, whereas once he would have demanded answers from the older boy for all he was worth and not budge from his stubborn stance until Eric could prove his actions were best. Doubt; despite knowing that Eric's actions sometimes were actually best, Kyle realised, the phantom touch of that bruising kiss still on his lips. The only thing that had changed between them was that the possessiveness Eric harbored for the redhead had become something of an obsession, madder and wilder than the desire of a young child to want the full attention of his friend. This was something altogether new that had pushed Kyle's own sense to the background and brought a brand new side of himself to the surface.

He wanted this.

The redhead's lips parted, his hair a partial obstruction he couldn't seem to want to move as he watched that shirt drop to the floor and Eric's pale chest, broad and strong, come into view. A tattoo of brilliant black decorated the space above his heart, the sharp-edged Knife symbol looking oddly soft in the low lighting. There was no part of Kyle screaming loud enough that this was a bad idea, that to go through with what was obviously happening would lead to more heartache and tension and problems than even he could deal with. For the first time in his life, there was no part of Kyle stuck on what repercussions he might face, on what would happen in the morning or in a month's time. He had eyes only for Eric as the man shed his trousers before dragging Kyle towards him with a gentle grip of those big hands to the smaller boy's calves. This was something new and forbidden that sent his heart into overdrive as large, warm hands wormed their way beneath his hoody and dragged it from his body, exposing the brutal scarring that was Omen's mark. He moved to cover it on instinct, only for Eric to growl and pin his hands to the bed. The scar was fresh still, pink and easily broken should enough force be driven against it, but it had become a part of Kyle as surely as any other scar had. He held no ill will towards his own body beyond the simple embarrassment that it was another blemish to cover up.

"Think of it as protection."

The memory of Omen's words rang in his head, a fleeting mention of the mark when Pip had asked if he was healing alright at the dinner that had seemed to have happened a thousand years ago. Kyle had hesitated, his green eyes flicking to the dark haired gang leader who had been immersed in conversation with Cartman throughout the meal, only to find that those strange ruby eyes had fixed on him. Something like intrigue had painted those narrowed eyes for the briefest moment, as though the man had forgotten that Kyle would forever be branded as one of his own. They had stared at one another, Cartman's form relaxed beside the redhead as he watched the scene. Then, Omen had smiled and winked; "You'll always bear my mark, little lamb, it's a brand my men wear with no small amount of satisfaction and one I carry myself. It is a link to me regardless of where you end up. Think of it as protection."

"Does it bother you?"

Kyle's voice was a whisper as Eric traced the eerie pattern with one hand, the man's golden eyes lidded. They snapped up to Kyle, taking in the flush that painted his cheeks and the rise and fall of his chest so like a man about to take his last breath. How often had he longed for Kyle to submit to him, to be the one, the only one, who could quell that maddening temper and offer the fiery little redhead a moment's peace. From now until the day he died, Eric would make certain Kyle found peace only by his side. Obsession had fast become something dangerously protective in Eric Cartman.

"No," he whispered back, dipping his head to trace his tongue across the freshly healed wounds and reveling in the short sound of mixed panic and rapture that escaped Kyle's mouth. "Had it stood for anything else or been made by anyone else, maybe. I would have skinned it away myself and tied you down until it healed, a blank scar that could be my own."

Kyle's eyes fell shut as he was dragged by a one-handed clasp on his wrists back up the bed, Eric following until the taller man knelt between the redhead's trembling legs, the fingers of his free hand moving to play with the button of Kyle's jeans.

"But, I trust Damien. He and I are on the same side." Eric pulled the zip down slowly, focused on Kyle's shallow breaths, "If anything happens to me, he'd take you in sooner than Stan and Kenny could find you a safe house and he understands the risks. No, Omen isn't my opponent in this particular game of chess."

Kyle frowned, his mouth open to ask who it was Eric thought he was playing against, when his jeans were pulled down suddenly, exposing his boxers and pale legs to the tepid temperature of the room. Eric was quick to bring his weight down again, his groan a growl deep in his throat as slender, white thighs parted for him and trembled against his hips. Kyle almost choked on the sudden breath he had taken, his eyes rolling back as Eric ground down, pushing their lengths together beneath the layer of fragile fabric and worming an arm behind Kyle's arched back to clutch him close.

The redhead panted, his legs falling open further as Eric's mouth latched to his throat, sucking hard before a sudden snap of teeth against skin had Kyle wailing.

"But don't think just because you've had a rough time with your first gang initiation, that I'm gonna go easy when I'm marking you, Jew."

A quick shift in Eric's position and a grunt, fingers against the band of his underwear as he was subtly lifted and Kyle suddenly found himself completely devoid of clothing. Eric was just as bare above him as the man pushed his length against him, hot and slick and maddening. Kyle's eyes flew open wide, his own member stiff with the rapid pace of his heart, and seeming altogether too small as Eric's heavy length fell against the soft swell of the redhead's lower stomach.

"Oh... God..."

Eric's dark chuckle broke through the sound of heavy breathing and skin against skin seconds before Kyle felt one of those hands wrap around his length and pull gently, one large thumb swiping over the tip in a manner that had Kyle keening and bucking against the bed. "You ever been touched before, Kyle? You're such a good little boy... Bet you've never let anyone else down here, have you?"

Kyle's head snapped from one side to the next in response, his eyes half-closed and his chest lifting with rapid, fluttery gasps as Eric's fingers gripped him almost cruelly; the man's grin almost feral with satisfaction. The sensation was one he was easily overwhelmed by, his stomach clenching as the slow, harsh pace of that large hand sent him reeling towards the end faster than he had ever gotten with his own palm. 

Eric dragged him back with a sharp twist, fingers clenching hard around the small length as he watched his younger friend fall to pieces beneath him. Kyle's red curls were like a spill of blood against the white pillows, his pink lips open and wet with each panted breath. Beautiful. Beautiful and debauched and sinful... and his. 

"Was that a no? You gotta open that pretty mouth for me, Kyle."

The boy's voice was a broken sob, nails biting into Eric's arms where he gripped so tightly. "No! No, no one, not ever! No one's every touched me... Eric please... please..."

The taller man growled, catching Kyle's panting mouth in a kiss hard enough to bruise his pouting bottom lip. "Well when you ask so pretty... How can I say no, baby boy?"

Kyle would take it to the grave before admitting it, but it was the nickname that did him in. Eric quickened his pace, smooth and slick with the amount that he had been leaking, his golden eyes never once leaving green as Kyle arched like a bow, strung tight and whimpering as he spilled against the hand grasped so tight around him. His nails dragged a scarlet path down the brunette's shoulders and drew a satisfied growl from between bared teeth. Eric watched him tense beneath him, his body more pliant and eager than the older man had expected. The redhead was so soft with the unexpectedness of pleasure, spasming with great gulps of much needed air as his seed spilled hot and slick over Eric's fingers and his own stomach. It didn't take a genius to see that Kyle had truly never been touched before and the thought was one that had something smug and deliciously delighted settling in the pit of Eric's stomach. He watched green eyes glaze over beneath rumpled red curls and bitten, plump lips part in a whine that was almost animal-like. Kyle was fucking beautiful.

Eric pressed a gentle kiss against those panting lips, curling his tongue lazily around Kyle's own and scooping up the redhead's seed with two fingers. He trailed the slippery substance down the boy's still hard member, passed the overly sensitive sack that had Kyle's eyes rolling back once more until he nudged the back entrance with the tip of one slick finger, shivering when muscles clamped down around the bare intrusion and Kyle whimpered against his ear.

"Is it safe to assume that you're as tight-assed as I used to tell you you were, Kyle?"

Green eyes narrowed dangerously, Kyle's nails clenching once more in the skin of Eric's arms. "Just what makes you think I'm gonna let you do that to me, Cartman?"

"Oh?" Eric sounded amused, his fingertip still circling Kyle's opening with a gentle teasing that had Kyle relaxing against him despite his heated words. The redhead sucked in a breath. Fuck, if that wasn't the best experience of his whole fucking life. Antagonizing Eric was as familiar to Kyle as getting angry, pushing the boy to the limit was almost a past time after all their years of friendship. He didn't want the sensations he was feeling now to vanish, the lightness of his own sense of responsibility nor the clenching of his stomach, no, he fucking adored these new feelings; but that did little to stop his smart-ass mouth from trying to get a rise from the brunette.

"You don't want me to do this, then?" Eric sighed, dragging his finger away and Kyle felt a moment's panic that Eric had misread his words as a plea to stop. A finger, slender and warm and slick with his own substance pushed passed the gentle resistance and wormed its way against the inner walls of his backside. Kyle's breath had stilled in his throat, his eyes round and staring up into Eric's lidded gaze as his blunt nails bit sharply into the taller man's shoulders. The finger moved inside him, twisting against the tight walls, drawing out a fraction, before rubbing back in once more and Kyle could feel the bemused expression that was painted across his own face.

Eric watched him close for signs of hurt, his eyes softening when a line furrowed the redhead's brow and his breath blew from between his lips in a shaky sigh. Not unpleasant, not entirely pleasant. Kyle's face was as expressive as a book, his pleasure at the simple action alight in the sudden haze that was beginning to cloud his green eyes and his uncertainty vivid in the frown between his eyebrows and the pucker of his pretty lips. With a practiced ease, Eric wormed a second, wet finger into the tiny opening, his eyes lidding as wet walls clamped around his digits.

Kyle groaned, the intrusion almost painful and altogether strange now with two of Eric's long fingers inside of him. There was no way this could feel good, no way anything so small could be forced open to the point where it would be pleasurable for them both. The rubbing, the tugging was something that eased the sting, an almost-pleasure as Eric's fingers moved and spread inside of him. His thighs trembled with the new sensations, his body rigid even as Eric's other hand rubbed against his waist, urging him to relax. Golden eyes locked with his own let Kyle know that Eric was greatly enjoying the action. Lidded and bright and captivating, Kyle focused on them as Eric's fingers shifted within him and the man crooked his digits suddenly.

The sparks of pleasure that shot up Kyle's spine at the action were almost painful in their intensity, drawing a startled gasp form the redhead and a spur of movement that had Eric's second hand gripping his waist lest he try and impale himself.

"There we go." Eric's voice was far too smug, his breath warm and smelling of mint and nicotine against Kyle's face. The redhead groaned as Eric rubbed against that spot relentlessly, causing spasms in legs already weakened from the first climax and drawing gasp after beautiful gasp from Kyle's throat. God, he could sound as smug as he fucking wanted as long as he kept doing what he was doing...

The redhead cried out when those fingers stretched inside of him, pulling his walls back to the point of stinging pain and distracting from Kyle's bliss for the briefest moment before something much larger, much hotter and slathered in what could only be Kyle's cum was pushing its way inside of him, those fingers falling away to allow the walls of Kyle's entrance to try and clamp shut over the intrusion. Eric hissed in time with Kyle's breathy moan, his gold eyes slanting to watch Kyle's mouth fall open, his cheeks flushed bright red and his green eyes lidded to an almost close. Eric pushed further and further into that tight space, growling low in his throat at the tight clamping heat that seemed to want to swallow him whole.

He stopped only when he was seated fully in the small redhead, Kyle as tense as a pulled string beneath him and a trickle of spit having fallen from the corner of his open mouth and down his chin. It was a sight that would be burned into his memory as surely as the image of Kyle bleeding out on his couch was, only this one would hold a far more precious place. Eric placed an open-mouthed kiss to the gasping mouth below his, one arm clutching Kyle close as he pulled out slowly, his eyes focused on the moaning, shivering man in his grasp, before thrusting back in and drawing a cry of bliss from Kyle. Eric's lips curved in a wicked smile, his grip tightening on what was his.

"Are you gonna go home, Kyle?"

The redhead wailed, another trust of Eric's hips slamming against that spot the brunette's fingers had so abused and forcing any thought beyond the feeling of rightness from his mind. Was he going to go home? Sweet Jesus no... No, God no, this was where he wanted to be... With Stan and Kenny and Butters and the rest... Away from his controlling mother and a school system that had him bored to tears... Away from the stress of having to avoid everyone he had known and hiding in his own hometown... Here. He belonged right fucking here... Beneath Eric fucking Cartman.

"No," Kyle shook his head, hands reaching to thread through Eric's soft, brown hair as the man moved to kiss his lips again, "No Eric..."

The thrusts grew harder, one of Eric's hands leaving his hips to drag through his red curls and grip them hard enough to sting. Kyle arched his throat for the man, hips canting to meet every brutal thrust with a feral whimper. 

Eric's smile was all teeth, sharp and vicious. "Good boy."


	20. Chapter Twenty

He sat all but eclipsed in the shade; the room around him bathed only in the glow cast by the orange street lights outside and the fire crackling in a grate worn by age. The apartment itself was expensive, old and dated as many of South Park's original complexes were, but no less wealthy-looking for it. If anything, the decades embedded into this particular complex were what gave it its... charm.

Hanihen had thought the high-rise building abandoned, like so many of South Park's old businesses and factories; an out-of-date apartment that bordered on the weird and creepy and was situated above an aged toy store that hadn't been open in at least ten years. Ten years the space below had done nothing but collect dust and get passed over again and again by prospective buyers, and for near all of that time the space above had been in use by someone.

How the kid had gotten by without his parents to guide and feed him, the police woman wasn't even sure she wanted to know. He had said all but two words to her in the last fifteen minutes she had spent sitting on the worn, brown armchair and even that little conversation had set her teeth on edge. Gregory worked around the silent duo happily, his brown leather gloves discarded as he stoked the fire every so often with a metal poker and moved from the near imposing dark of the living room to the stark brightness the kitchen was doused in. The two could not have been more different in personality and in likeness.

Whereas one exuded charm and wit like a gentleman, his bright smile and pale hair putting her at ease; the other had yet to move from his perch atop the window ledge, one booted foot planted against the white window frame and a pair of piercing black eyes focused on her alone. He could not have been more than twenty-five, and looked younger that it, his sallow skin an unearthly pale beneath the false lighting of the streetlamps and his dark eyes bruised with sleepless nights. His brown hair stood up in disarray about his slender face, uncombed and wild and fitting well with the scattering of jagged white scars that littered the boy's neck and jaw. Held between his lips as though it had never belonged anywhere else was a cigarette that was slowly burning to the butt, its glow casting a dull light on the black vest that enclosed his skinny frame, smeared with dirt. His pale arms were bare and stick-thin where they hung by his sides, only his hands clad in black gloves. His bottom half was suspended from the ledge almost lazily, dressed in black pants several sizes too large that bunched around his belted waist and where he had stuffed the ends into his thick-soled boots.

Gregory had called him the Mole.

"So," he blew a breath out, clouding the air and moving so suddenly to a standing position that Hanihen jumped, her lips turning down in a sneer at being startled. "I 'ave 'eard word, Madam, zat you require my assistance."

The accent was thick despite the years Gregory had told her the Mole had been living in South Park, his whole life bar the first nine years if the blonde was correct. Still, he spoke as one well-versed but uncomfortable with the English language, his lips barely parting over a soft voice that seemed almost child-like. A strange creature indeed.

"Yes, well, the police department here hasn't a fucking clue what it's doing." Hanihen braced her own soft-booted feet against the plush carpet, her eyes flicking to where Gregory had ceased his humming, the blonde now leaning against the door frame of the kitchen with a grin upon his classically handsome face. Whether she was doing the right thing or not involving these... youths, was not important to her at the moment. Gregory had said that the boy could earn the trust of Cartman, had worked with him before, whatever the hell that meant. All she needed was one piece of evidence and she could lock that scumbag away for good and the police force would have no choice but to gun down whatever cronies tried to stop her in the aftermath.

"Zat is true," The Mole hummed in agreement, stubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray blackened with smoke that sat on the glass coffee table. Hell, if Hanihen didn't already know how well Gregory was being paid for his overseas internship or the fact that the apartment had been left fully furnished by the previous owners, she would have been damn suspicious about how the two of them were paying for the amount of shit they had. It was suspicious enough that they were living together, two guys alone in a rural part of the area; it didn't take a genius to figure out how well they were acquainted. If she wasn't so fucking desperate to get an in with the Knives, she'd have found a way to get Gregory sacked for that fact and that alone.

"But," The dark haired boy braced a boot against the glass table, casting a dark glance in her direction before hauling himself on top of it, the fragile glass and metal creaking beneath his unsubstantial weight. "Why should I 'elp ze likes of you, hmm? You are nozing to me. You are just anozer bitch trying to dig 'er nose in too deep, to win ze biggest amount of shit for your pig-like greed."

"Now, now, Mole, dearest," Gregory tutted from the kitchen doorway, his breath chuckling in a quiet laugh as he gazed up at the small youth stood upon his coffee table as though the man were a God. "You mustn't be so rude to people, what have I told you about opening up and helping others, hmm? I think it's about time Eric Cartman got to meet and greet the local law enforcement, that boy is far too slippery for his own good. He is making enemies..."

"Cartman," The Mole spat, narrowly missing Hanihen's boot and drawing a snarl from the older woman, "is a well-guarded dog. What do you plan on doing, woman, when you 'ave acquired zis 'evidence' from 'im? Will you shoot 'im zere and zen, hmm? Will you 'ave no ozer option, police pig?"

"Now you listen here, brat," Hanihen growled, shooting to her feet only for a hand on her shoulder to force her back into the chair, Gregory once more wearing his trademark brown gloves.

"Forgive us, Ms. Hanihen," the Brit's smooth cultured tones calmed the woman's pride, though her eyes stayed locked to the dark orbs that glared at her as the Mole paced back and forth across the glass table. "my partner is... untrustworthy of authority. He holds just cause for it, I assure you, but his bark is far more foul than his bite. He is an uncultured swine, but he is not known as The Mole for his social etiquette. What the lad would like to know before he agrees to drag you into Knife territory, is simply your plan of action. Is it you alone who is aware of the criminals lurking within South Park? Will you bring back-up so we are not outnumbered?"

Hanihen watched the blonde move to take the ashtray from the table-top, lest the Mole send it tumbling to the floor in his tantrum. He was a thug, of that the woman was sure. What a decent guy like Gregory was doing with the piece of scum was anyone's guess. Maybe he had known the lad as a boy, had fond memories of him he was unwilling to relinquish. Regardless, it didn't matter. Out of the pair, it was evident enough to see that it was the sweet-tempered blonde that called the shots despite his partner's shady appearance and countenance. It was only Gregory she needed on her side and after their nights of delving further into the mystery that was the Knives and ignoring the men and women who thought nothing of the young street gang, she was sure that she had his unwavering trust. Gregory seemed to desire justice as much if not more than Hanihen.

"I've spoken to most everyone else, tried to find others who see the Knives for the scum they are but the police of Park County are more useless than a dead duck." The woman shook her head, twisting almost minimally in her seat to ensure that the handheld she carried with her at all times was still securely hidden against her lower back beneath her jacket. It was a comfort to know it was never far from reach. "Everyone thinks they're just a bunch of kids runnin' around scarin' people. I know fuckin' different, I know Cartman is running this town into the ground and he'll take every fucking one of us down with him. He's drawing in negative attention from other towns, who's to say the bastard isn't recruiting and building an army to overthrow the fucking police. Hell, he's probably got a few of the older cops bribed as it is, that's why they're so fucking hush hush about it! All I need is evidence, once I have that I'll bring it all to the department. See them try and turn me away then!"

"Quite," Gregory nodded sagely, his hand snapping out before Hanihen could register to grab the pacing youth by the neck and drag him from the table. The Mole snarled in his grasp, striking out with a heavy boot against the blonde's shins and drawing only a grunt in response as the blonde shook him like a doll and pushed him forward. "Show Ms. Hanihen to the door, Mole, try and repair your horrific reputation. I will speak with you tomorrow, ma'am, and contact you as soon as Mole has found an in with the Knives and sets up a 'meeting'. Rest assured that you will see the man in action and have the evidence you so desperately crave. What happens after is your move and yours alone."

Christophe growled low in his throat, one slim hand skimming the woman's back before clutching her arm and guiding her in something akin to a march out the front door and down the flight of stairs from the building. He returned with a jaunt to his steps, a new cigarette already held in his lips as he twisted the latch to close their door and resumed his perch atop the freshly painted windowsill, the perfect view to survey the land that surrounded them and to watch the police woman make her way down the only entrance and exit to the complex.

"One gun, 'eld at the small of 'er back. An 'and'eld, six bullets with no ozer packs zat I could feel but zat could change come ze night in question."

Gregory came behind him with a lilting hum, the blonde resting his chin against the messy, dark hair of the man below him, his hands devoid of gloves as he moved them around a waist too slender to hold the amount of power that it did. "You did very well, pet, she hated you the moment she laid eyes on you. She will have no problem lowering you to Cartman's level and accepting when he offers to meet with you in two weeks time."

Christophe grinned, a slash of startling white in the darkness of his living room; a space he had invaded for years on his own before Gregory had returned to find him. He tilted his head back, exposing a column of pale skin as he reached up to toy with one perfect blonde curl. "I use only ze gifts God 'as given me to send 'im the angels 'e so longs to torment."

###

Kenny whined a sound both undignified and vengeful as he twisted against crisp, clean sheets, his hands searching blindly for the little black phone that vibrated beneath his head. He found it with a sigh, pressing the button to light the screen with a hiss of abuse when the little light blinded him. A snort from the small form nestled beneath the lilac covers had him grinning.

"Go back to sleep, Butters, it's a Saturday, you're up too goddamn early."

There was a muffled response from beneath the warm covers, snarky and lazy as Butters kicked out at him sleepily and turned around, taking the majority of quilt with him. Kenny sighed, as good a response as any for having been woken so early. He leaned over to press a noisy kiss to the clothed mound, before sliding from the bed and donning a pair of tracksuit bottoms he had cast off the night before. With the Hell Raisers taking up their new territory and running their own shifts, lie ins were now more a luxury than the errant fantasy they had been before. Kenny could almost forgive having to get up at four o clock in the morning on a Saturday to run a perimeter check knowing that, come midday, he could hand his shift over to the Hell Raiser Roo with a two fingered salute and be done for the day. Omen's blonde guard-dog may be off his fucking head, but he had Kenny's good graces so long as the Knife saw that shiny silver Cadillac at the meet up point at eleven fifty five.

The Second in Command yawned as he tugged on a hoody dyed a velvety blue by Butter's talented fingers, a not so subtle plea from his little lover to wear something a little less noticeable than his trademark orange fleeces that had landed him a bullet in the leg on one nasty occasion. Kenny shut the door behind him with a gentle hand, pocketing the key as he cast narrowed blue eyes out over the street. Peace had been something South Park had settled into nicely with the treaty between the two gangs. Hell, it seemed almost more peaceful now than it had done before the Hell Raisers had moved in. Though there was cuts in profit and protection fees what with one neighbourhood now being under Omen territory, it was like the two gangs had found a niche in this little country town turned city.

The blonde stretched, kicking a sneaker up to land on the hood of his shiny red baby and nodding to the grey-clad figure that leaned against the passenger door, his grey eyes closed and his hat pulled down low over his black hair.

"How's Blondie?"

"Asleep, thank fuck," Craig's eyes opened slowly, surveying his own home with an almost boredom for signs of movement. He had left Tweek unconscious under the valium Butters had granted him the night before. Why their little nurse didn't supply them on a fucking daily basis was a load of bull. Hell, he loved Tweek, but no amount of coffee would ever be enough if he had to go through more than a week of the boy's nightmares. That was a fucking jail-sentence to go through, tormenting because he could do nothing to stop them once an attack had begun and viciously dangerous because they plagued his every thought. Tweek, in this state, plagued his every thought. "I'd fucking kill his parents again if I could."

Kenny snorted, kicking away from the car and opening it with a push of his key. "Too bad you ended it quick the first time round, then, wasn't it? Should've savoured it like I told you, Ghost."

Craig rolled his eyes as he climbed into the car, gaze still trained on the quiet house. "As if you'd have savoured it if you had walked in on Princess being beaten by his dad, Killer"

The thought settled uneasily in Kenny's mind, the blonde shaking his head as he made a quick trip to the Boss' home before their scheduled perimeter run. Verbal abuse was one thing, but if Kenny thought for a second Mr. Stotch had ever beaten Butters the black and blue Tweek had been, the man would have been dead and buried by now. He clucked his tongue, opening the door with the spare key held in his pocket and pacing a ways into the front hall before glancing around. The TV whispered eerily from an otherwise empty sitting room, lights switched off apart from the landing light upstairs. Blue eyes narrowed in a slant as Kenny moved soundlessly up step by step. Boss never left the TV on.

There was a shriek, shrill and pained enough for the blonde to know that it had come, not from Boss, but from Kyle, as he reached the top step. With one hand already clicking the safety free from the gun always tucked in by his hip, Kenny moved with no sound, his feet swift against the carpeted hall as he braced one shoulder against Boss's bedroom door and slammed it open, his gun pointed firmly... at the sight of Kyle on all fours on Cartman's expensive sheets, sweat-slicked and flushed and completely naked as the Boss held his hips steady where he was pounding into the redhead from behind.

"God damn it, Kenny! Jesus Christ!" Kyle's shrill screaming brought a wince to the blonde's ears, his own cheeks flushing crimson as the redhead barrel-rolled into the mass of cushions and twisted sheets that lay abandoned to one side, hiding himself fully as he glared with venomous green eyes. "You can't fucking knock, no? Better yet, fuck off and don't knock, don't come back and don't you say one fucking word to anyone else."

Blue eyes flickered from the scandalised redhead to where Boss had risen from the bed, a discarded towel wrapped around his waist as he popped a cigarette from its box and balanced it between his lips with a glance in Kenny's direction. "Any particular reason you've ruined my morning, Killer?"

Not trusting what would come from his mouth if he were to open it, Kenny merely took his phone from his pocket and offered the message he had gotten up to Boss' inspection before the man nodded once and the blonde pocketed the phone, his eyes darting to the scowling redhead and a twitch threatening one side of his clamped lips.

"Well," Eric paused to light the stick, breathing deeply, before he settled the cigarette in one of the many glass ashtrays found about the house. "If that's all, I've got some unfinished business to take care of and you've got a shift to run." Kenny nodded slowly, eyes still pinned on the furious looking Kyle who was now shaking his head stubbornly at Eric, his arms clutched to the point of pain around a large satin pillow as the Boss advanced. Lips twitching traitorously, Kenny closed the door behind him in time enough to hear Kyle's refusal get cut off with a wanton moan before the blonde all but bolted from the house, only barely remembering to lock the door behind him before sliding into the front seat of his car beside Craig.

The tired-eyed man cast him a funny look, a glimmer of curiosity on his face. "You look like you just caught your parents shagging, what the fuck is up with that face?"

With a snort, Kenny blasted the volume of his radio in an effort to drown out Kyle's little moan as it repeated in his head, the picture of his best friend's body as he was fucked from behind by Cartman a mental brand that would forever haunt him. "Would've been less fucking traumatic to have seen my parents."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Kyle hummed in time with the music that sounded from the television in the front living room all the way down to the kitchen; the volume turned to near deafening levels in a spiteful show of defiance against Cartman's one order while he would be out; remain inconspicuous.

The redhead grinned, one hand snatching out to grab the salt shaker from the wooden shelf and cracking it over the bowl of boiling pasta set to simmer on the sleek stove. He turned down the gas with a deft flick of his wrist, the other hand twisting the pre-popped lid of the tomato and cheese sauce and lifting the jar to upend it over the steaming concoction. Far be it from him to deny the 'Boss' a parting order.

He had checked and re-checked the locks, called in sick to school after a fortnight of perfect attendance as per Eric's request and drew every curtain in the house come the time the sky had begun to turn a subtle pink with sunset. Where the big man had gone, Kyle had no idea, nor was he entirely certain he wanted to know. He knew only that Cartman would be gone for the night, along with Kenny and Stan and the gang leader did not trust him enough not to dig himself into trouble if he was left to school without his 'bodyguard', as Firkle was enjoying some well earned free time; no doubt with Kyle's little brother.

Green eyes narrowed as Kyle littered the pasta with more cheese, sliding it into the oven with a gentle slam to the stiff door and cranking up the heat once more. It was a thought that should have bugged him more than it did, the idea of the Knife hanging around his baby brother. Hell, had he not known that Ike could take on just about anyone in this stupid town, he would have outright forbidden it. As it was, Ike wasn't the baby Kyle had watched over as a kid, it was often that the redhead wondered if Ike had not held more maturity than half the adult population even as a young child. The kid was weird, definitely, and more likely to get his heart broken than his arm or leg if he found himself in the wrong company. But Firkle just... didn't seem the sort.

Strange and quiet as the boy was with his non-conformist ways and his anti-social behaviour, Kyle thought he would be hard pushed to ever find a boy, Knife or not, that looked at Ike the way Firkle looked at Ike. There was something almost romantic in their stolen moments, something undeniably sweet in the way Ike would follow Firkle down the streets when the young Knife was charged with 'babysitting' Kyle by walking him home from school. Though he never ventured far into Knife territory, Kyle had a feeling Ike would follow the sweet-natured Goth to the ends of the earth if he could. Despite his youth, Ike knew love in the little Goth boy and it was a love that almost reviled Kyle's own obsession with Eric Cartman.

If anything could be said for the situation, it was that the Broflovski brothers did not do things by half.

Kyle sighed, slinging a dish cloth over one shoulder as he made his way through the corridors towards the television, content that he had stirred enough panic in his antics to have had several of the men and women outside call Boss to inform them of Kyle's night-time music-blasting. Furious as the man made him with his rules and orders and his intentions to move the redhead in with him without so much as asking, Kyle fucking adored Eric. He adored the possessiveness, the way Cartman's eyes found only his in a room full of old friends and new allies. He adored the way the man had begun to learn every inch of Kyle's body in their night time passions and the way Cartman held him as they fell asleep. Sappy and stupid as it may have been, Kyle had fallen head over heels for the Boss, if he had not in fact been there already for several years without knowing it. Nothing in his life held a modicum of importance to the trust he held in Eric now, not school, nor his mother's persistent phone calls nor his dad's threats to block his inheritance and leave him with no home to return to. Nothing mattered so long as he was a part of the scheme that was Eric Cartman's whole existence, because with a man such as Cartman involved; life simply became one game after the other. If Kyle had one complaint, it was that everyone else still seemed to know what game they were playing, while the redhead did not.

"Wish he'd just teach me the fuckin' rules already," Kyle nudged aside the door with one hip, darting for the remote control on the mantel piece and facing the deafening TV to turn the volume off, "maybe then I wouldn't feel so damn useless sitting here all day like a dead fish."

"But you make such a pretty dead fish, mon ami."

Kyle squeaked, his throat tight with fear as he whirled on the intruder, remote brandished like some useless weapon before his eyes settled on the small figure relaxed against Eric's plush couch. He frowned. "Christophe?"

The brunette chuckled, his laugh raspy with the years of nicotine abuse, despite the gentle lilt of his speaking voice. "Oui, Kyle, who else but I?"

Kyle cast a glance towards the front door, the remote forgotten in his hand at the sight of the latch still bolted. He frowned at the curtains drawn closed on the windows around him, before he glared down at the man, hands bracing against his hips. "Well, fuck, how did you get in here? You scared the shit out of me, you fucking lunatic."

The Mole dodged the dishcloth thrown in his direction, his lips parting in a hearty chuckle as Kyle settled into the seat by his side, his legs kicking up to prod the French man down a few inches. Kyle had blossomed in the years since they had last spoken, his red hair bouncing about his face and his cheeks flush with health. Like a doll, the boy didn't seem to have aged much from youth beyond the meagre stretch that placed him an inch taller than Christophe. "I 'ave my ways, Kyle, my old friend. Cartman may be ze most dangerous and well-guarded in South Park, but I am ze Mole. Zere exists no place on Earth where I cannot find my way into."

Kyle snorted, glancing down at the black outfit the boy was spilled into, doused in layers of dirt, old and new, it looked like he had been hidden in an attic for a month. He shook his head, lips tilting in a smile despite his fright. Christophe had been a rare friend through phone-calls and midnight break-ins to Kyle's bedroom long after the Mole had parted ways with the rest of the group in Middle school. Just as nobody but Kyle could draw a genuine laugh from the notorious Mole, so too could Christophe be the only soul not threatened with death after sneaking in to the redhead's bedroom window in the dead of night. Though he had not seen the man in such a long time, their friendship sparked a warmth within Kyle that he did not want to douse by alerting his Knife guard dogs that someone had snuck into the Boss' home.

"What are you doing here, Christophe? No word for all those years and then a sudden reappearance here of all places? Not that I'm not glad to see you, you know I am, I just get the feeling you're not dropping in just for a friendly chat. Is something wrong?"

Christophe face seemed to darken, his black eyes unwavering on Kyle as he reached out to tap the redhead's cheek in a familiar gesture. "Non, mon ami, I have not not come to chat." he sighed, standing slowly and stretching a kink from his small frame, when he looked back down at the redhead it was with a twist to his features. "Forgive me."

The green eyed youth had barely a moment to register the words before an arm wound its way around his shoulders, a cloth thick with the scent of chemicals and plastic filling his senses as it was pressed firmly against his nose and mouth. He struggled for shortest moment, nails raking against the black-clothed arm of his attacker before his legs became limp and his head lolled back to rest against a broad shoulder. Gloved hands withdrew the chloroform soaked towel, tracing the boy's thick curls back from his pale face with a tut of shame.

"Pity to do it this way, with such a trusting little dove," Gregory sighed, tapping a gloved finger against Kyle's parted lips before his hands were under the small redhead, lifting him from the couch in a bridal-style cradle of his arms. "I always quite liked Kyle, too, at least he held some manner of decorum," The blonde turned to grin back at the dark haired Mole, his lips twisting at the look of dark torment painting Christophe's usually stoic features. If there was one thing that could garner a reaction from the feisty thief, apart from Gregory, it was Kyle Broflovski. "Don't look so devastated, pet, he's in one piece, isn't he? No harm done, see? It's all part of the plan."

###

"There!... Aha..."

"Like that?"

Firkle whimpered, a sound high and pitiful and one he would deny ever making should someone ever ask him. His pale chest heaved with the moans he so desperately wanted to let spill, his body devoid of clothing as he lay pressed into the soft cotton of Ike's expensive foam mattress.

"I won't know the pace without your help, Superman, keep talking to me."

Ike's voice was as thick with amusement as it was with lust, his sleek dark hair framing his smiling face as he stared down at the older boy writhing beneath him. Now, as with most other times, it was difficult to remember that the now fifteen-year-old Ike Broflovski was younger than him. His lanky frame far surpassed Firkle's height, a pale show of slim muscle beneath the layers of colour and leather he was so fond of. If anything, Ike had been more like the older brother in the times Firkle had walked Kyle back to Boss' home; tall and imposing and graceful with confidence beside the small redhead that trotted to keep up with him and growled at his sibling's antics. Even with the day of the younger boy's birthday, when Firkle had been reminded by Kyle that Ike was a year younger than the Goth, had he been hard-pushed to not think of Ike as older than himself. 

"I... I can't... Your p-parents..."

"Should be well used to me moaning and groaning in the privacy of my own bedroom." The sleek form above him laughed with no care to the flush he had caused across Firkle's face, beyond his admiration of it. One slender hand remained braced against the pillows by Firkle's head, his other deftly lost between the smaller boy's thighs. "Now, are you going to talk with me or am I gonna have to entertain myself like last time, huh?"

Firkle groaned, his back arching and making him all the more aware of the heat that seemed to come from Ike's body like some industrial power source, maddening and perfect. The memories of the last night he had spent in Ike's bedroom flooded his conscious mind, so alarmed had he been when their kisses had moved beyond gentle groping to a hand between his legs that Firkle had scrambled from the bed; unsure and furious at himself because he wanted this, God how he wanted this, but he didn't want to take advantage of Ike!

The spur of panic had warranted only a sly smile from the taller teenager before he had undressed himself there and then, before Firkle's eyes and uncaring that his parents had been downstairs watching TV at that very moment. Ike had stripped himself bare and wriggled back against the heated sheets and, as though he were completely alone, had wrapped those slim, pale fingers around himself. The noises played in Firkle's mind even now, the boy's grunts and drawn-out moans as he had lost himself to the shape of his own hand and the darkness behind closed lids. Had it not been for the smirk that had played about his lips as he came, one bright eye sliding open to peer at the older boy, Firkle would have believed that Ike had genuinely forgotten his presence.

He panted, biting his lip as he stared up at those strangely bright eyes staring down at him, Ike's glossy hair perfectly intact and his hand almost lazy where it worked on Firkle's member. "Harder, please, Ike, grip me harder."

Long after the pair had been sated and Firkle lay with one of Ike's arms locked firmly about his waist and his head resting on the younger boy's softly rising chest, the Goth smiled to himself. The house and neighborhood around them were silent, Ike's peaceful form dead to the world until sunrise and yet so very real beneath Firkle's hands. This was his. This perfect moment belonged to him and only him, with the love of his life beneath him and far from anyone who had ever tormented or scoffed at him. No matter what happened, nothing could take this moment from him. Nothing could wipe away this memory.

His phone blipped suddenly, drawing his glare as it lit up against the side table, the vibrations sending it skirting towards the edge before he plucked it up tiredly. He sighed at the name flashing across the screen, his brow drawing down as he wormed his way from beneath Ike's hold, opening the flip phone with a hushed 'hello' as he tugged on his discarded jeans. Had it been anyone but Butters, Firkle would have turned the phone off.

The sound of the older boy's voice against his ear had Firkle rushing for his hoody and boots, his lips pulling down in a frown as the panicked shrill voice rambled down the phone at him, too wild at this point to even attempt to calm. He had woken from a nightmare, that much Firkle gathered from the hysterical sobs, Kenny was gone with Boss and so the petrified blonde had snuck his way into Cartman's house, intending to spend the night with his friend.

Except that Kyle was nowhere to be found. He had searched the house from top to bottom, taken in the half-cooked meal and the freshly folded sheets that let Butters know his friend's bed nor Eric's had not even been slept in. Wendy and Henrietta were out on a perimeter run and weren't responding to his calls, and Butters absolutely refused to walk outside to nab a random lackie, lest they have something to do with Kyle's disappearance.

Firkle felt his heart clench with each step he took away from Ike's bedroom, shutting the front door with a sorrowful sigh and Butters still rambling about Tweek's safety and where the fuck Craig had gone in his right ear. He did not want to leave. He did not want Ike to wake in the morning and find him gone, no matter how understanding the black haired youth was. But what he wanted didn't matter right now. Right now, he was a Knife and he needed to act it.

###

Craig rounded the corner with a soundless glide to his car, one elbow braced against the open window to let the cold air chill the interior of the vehicle. He pulled up outside his home with a familiar ease, reaching back to grab his pack from the backseat and pulling himself from the warmth with a sigh as he stepped out beneath the dark sky. Eleven o clock and the road seemed deserted, so many roaming the streets or clubs with all the other youths in South Park that now felt safe enough to leave their homes after the street lights came on. An improvement to the fear they had once lived with, but no less a pain in the neck for their territory with all the new recruits off blending in with society.

The dark haired gang member pulled his cap lower over his hair, one finger absently tracing the scar that stood out against his pale skin, a distant reminder that knives were only cool so long as they were held by the proper person. He'd never trust Red with a blade again so long as they both lived.

"Ghost."

Craig slowed to a stop, one raised eyebrow the only outward show that he had been visibly startled by the lean Goth kid that was suddenly making his way down his drive. "Isn't today one of your days off, Kid? What're you doin' in my house?"

The tone held no menace to a fellow Knife, only tension at the thought that something might have become of Tweek in the two hours Craig had been gone. He was sure he had deadlocked every entrance into that house before he had left, Tweek's waving hands telling him to go off and enjoy his life instead of squatting in a house the blonde liked to have to himself every once in a while.

"Blondie?"

"I'm here, Craig," Tweek stood by the open door, his face three shades paler but otherwise unharmed in the thick fleece Butters was forcing over his shaking head. What the hell was Butters doing awake and in his house?

"Princess?"

"I'm fine too," the blonde huffed, zipping the shakier blonde's fleece with a scowl on his pretty features, before turning to regard Craig with venom in his normally tranquil eyes. "Where the fuck is Kyle?"

Craig couldn't help the bare grimace that crossed his mouth at the words, Butters rarely cursed. "Ye were meant to stay asleep," the taller turned an icy look on the Knife now stood in front of him, Firkle's crossed arms leaving him no leeway in explaining this to the noirette without the blondes listening in. "Fuck. You were meant to stay away too, if Ike found out, he'd have brought the whole goddamned town down on our heads. Butters, come inside, I'll explain the plan, Kyle's in no danger, he just thinks he is."

The blade was flung at him before his lips closed around the final word, missing Craig's scarred cheek by an inch and drawing another raised eyebrow from the dark haired gang member. Butters had pushed Tweek back inside the door of his house, the small blonde's hands holding onto a set of identical throwing knives, the third of which was now embedded in the grass a few feet beyond Craig's boots. Blue eyes were narrowed dangerously as Butters paced forward with all the grace of a wild cat, Firkle backing up steadily until there was nothing between Craig and the young blonde but air.

"Like he was in no danger the first night Kenny and Stan abandoned him? Like he was in no danger the night he was left to Omen's hell-hounds? The next one won't miss, Ghost," Butters promised darkly, reaching up to snag the man's collar and bring him down to his level, "if violence is what it takes to spread a message with you guys, I will happily fucking adapt." Craig winced as Butters cut the strap of his pack, sending his art equipment to the ground, so much for a peaceful night of waiting for the shit to hit the fan. It had well and truly splattered now, and not in the direction it was supposed to. He sighed.

"Message received, Princess, now can you hand over Killer's knives or you gonna make me explain with a blade to my throat?" He stared down the furious blonde, breathing an internal sigh of relief when Butters pressed the metal handles into his palm and scowled up at him. Fuck, if that hadn't scared the ever living shit out of him. Craig ushered him inside, grabbing the new recruit by the collar behind him and closing the door of his home with a practiced slam.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

"Milk?"

"Coffee."

"Milk."

"Coffee..."

"Disappointment is character-building." Pip grinned as he brought the tall glass of chilled milk down on top of the sleek dark wood of the side table, his own hands wrapped around his own ice-cold glass. Damian glared up at him from where the man sat lounged in the plush armchair, his breath a weary sigh as he reached forward to take hold of the glass. For one innocent moment, his face held all the disgusted energy of a small child forced to eat his vegetables, his lips twisting as he took a sip of the white liquid and his red eyes narrowed in obvious betrayal.

"Coffee allows me the energy to keep up with you and your foolish tendencies. Where would I be if not for your sacrificial nature and blind kindness, Pip?" The leader of the Hell Raisers sat his glass back down with a flourish, fingertips sliding against the rounded rim. "At the very top of the world is where I would be, ruling this country with terror and sweat."

Pip hummed softly from where he stood beside the over-stuffed chair, his lips pouting over the occasional sip of his milk as he stared with vacant green eyes from the tall windows. He cast a narrowed glance at the older man, one side of his mouth quirking. "And so very lonely."

Damian watched him with a blank face, the only show of warmth the barest softening of his strange-coloured eyes. "And so very lonely." He agreed with no hint of a smile, his energies focused not on forcing his features into a practiced grin, nor the sly smile he held in keep for his enemies. No, Pip was above such disloyalties. Pip was offered only the most honest of what Damian truly was; a monster.

Men such as Damian, who held wealth as an armour to escape the law and as a ladder from which each rung was wrought with the pain and suffering of others, who saw not the worth of a person in their achievements nor their personalities but in their usefulness and their refutable loyalty; men such as that could only be considered monsters. He was a monster for destroying the business of a poorer family, he was a monster for sparing no second thought to the men who died for him, he was a monster for slaughtering women for no other reason than their husbands had owed him money. He was a monster, but he was a monster in love.

Never before Pip had Damian considered that his life was lacking. Never before the ever-happy blonde could Damian have considered that there was something he was inexplicably reaching out for. He had stolen the boy just as surely as Pip had stolen his heart; the minute Damian had caught sight of him in that smouldering building all those years ago. It haunted him to this day, even in the moments when Pip was asleep and happy by his side, his blonde hair ruffled against the pillows and his arm solid and real where it lay across Damian's chest. Even still, the memory of his friends' laughter, his own laughter as they set the house alight rang in his ears with crystal clarity.

It had gone up with such ease, a small home doused in darkness that they had mistaken for another, the Boss' orders brief and vague. He had jeered and watched as they had done, arms pulled back to launch homemade fire-bombs one after the other until the entire ground floor was beyond rescue, any people that had been within burned to a cinder. The flames had licked against the top storey, bursting the windows with a noise that nearly overcame the sound of vicious laughter and the haunting shrieks from within.

It was through luck and luck alone that Damian had found him, coerced by some unknown intrigue to leave his gang mates and venture around the back of the home, alone in a darkness filled with smoke and fire. Small and dressed only in cotton pajamas smeared with smoke and blood, a waist-length mane of golden hair that had been burned to a damaged bob on one side, his pale-pink face twisted in fear and panic. Pip had crawled his way from the top window, his fingers bleeding where they clutched the drain-pipe, as he watched his home and family burn to ashes around him.

What possessed Damian to spread his arms open like some guardian angel would forever remain a mystery to him. He had known only that those green eyes should never have to shed a tear and that skin would never again be harmed by his hand or any other. Perhaps it had been blind fear that had forced Pip to trust him enough to jump, the boy's injuries pulling taut under the sudden pressure and drawing only the barest whimper from his frightened lips. Damian had swept an arm beneath his knees to carry him close, his eyes uncaring of which of those from his gang followed him from the crumbling house, until they were back in the cars they had stolen and Damian was speeding so far from his old boss, it was a miracle alone that they were not pulled over.

Pip turned to him, his top lip coated in a layer of milk as his green eyes took in Damian's dark stare. "What do you look so down for, dear friend? Is milk truly so bad a change from coffee? It is better for you, you know."

Red eyes glinted, Damian's arms reaching until he had gripped the younger boy by the hips and dragged him onto his lap to the sound of Pip's delighted shriek and playful laughter. "Milk is possibly the best thing to have ever happened to me in my life."

Pip snorted, tucking a short length of blonde hair behind one ear as he placed a chaste peck against the corner of Damian's soft smile. "Alright, it's not quite that good, but whatever you say, Damian."

The moment was captured by Clyde and Token, two of the boys that had followed Damian from the town they had begun their life of crime in. Token was frowning, his hands not pausing from where he was strapping a gun belt around one thigh. Damian raised a brow curiously before turning to Clyde, the taller man offering a solemn smile to Pip before frowning at Damian. "Suspicious behaviour Omen, that damn cop we've been keepin' an eye on has taken off. Silent, like she don't wanna be seen, too. We followed her 'till we came to Knife grounds but they went through to go somewhere else. Thought about contactin' Killer and them to keep an eye out but they ain't answerin' and as we were comin' away, there was some commotion with that small blondie one, Ghost and the Kid. Didn't hear what about, but doesn't look like no peaceful night is ahead of us."

###

Hanihen felt her breath leave her in something of a ghostly sigh as she slowed the car down to a stop, the engine's whine a testament to how old and shitty the hunk of metal was around her. The place she had been ordered to come to by the blonde poster boy that was Gregory looked like something from a horror movie. From memory of her field work of South Park, she knew it to be an old factory, like the several others that bordered the otherwise picturesque village, or what it had once been. The thing had been shut down for years, something about too many 'accidental' deaths. Not that the police department had looked into that, useless bunch of fuckers that they were. Anything remotely linked to something else was fobbed off as a tragic accident in this town and she wanted to know why. Better yet, she wanted to put a fucking end to it.

Like a morbid fascination bred by a need to know more and an empty file forcing her into a dead end time and time again, her hatred for this sleepy mountain village had become an obsession, rotting away what decency she had held in the years she had been posted here. Each referral to the higher ups was landed on her desk, unsigned and delivered by the Head of the police force himself with stern words to see her contract through. No amount of bitching or shoving crime after disgusting crime in their faces would make them see clear. They were paid for it, she just knew it. Paid for their silence, paid for their loyalty. The bad seeds of South Park's original police force were like a stain blackening every man and woman of the law they came into contact with, poisoning them against the logic that had to be ingrained somewhere in their thick heads. For fuck sake, the whole police force couldn't be that bad, could it?

A rap against her window brought Rita from her internal rant, her face jerking to throw a scowl through the fogged up glass. Gregory stood on the other side, his lips already split into that trademark, pearly-white grin and his blonde hair combed back. He stepped back as she moved from the car, keeping the door open an inch as she turned to look at him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her raincoat. There was a blade there should the worst come to it. Rita Hanihen may have been eager to know the truth behind the biggest gang Boss in South Park, eager enough to risk her job; but she wasn't about to risk her own neck for these lowlifes.

"You're sure he'll come?"

Gregory grinned, his eyes wandering over to where a midnight black jag sat obscured by the shadows, the short red glow of a cigarette the only thing that let her know that that creepy fucker known as the Mole was with them.

"Didn't I tell you I'd get him to come running to us, ma'am? What is a gentleman if not honour-bound by his word?" The blonde bowed in a manner that was both mocking and elegant, his brown, gloved hands sweeping back in a practiced move that had Hanihen fighting back what could have been either a smirk or a sneer.

"You didn't exactly tell me how you'd be doing that, by the by," she mused instead, one hand raking through her thick hair and happy with how the stretch pushed the gun at her back just that slightest bit closer. "Have you just blackmailed the fucker? Did you find something on him?"

"Blackmail of a sort... madam."

Hanihen jumped at the thick French accent that sounded from behind her, her fingers twitching for her weapon as she took in the Mole and the sleek black jumper that all but blended him with the darkness. His pale face looked almost ill beneath the poor lighting of the yellow street lamps and in his arms was clasped a blanket-covered object that even the most brain-dead of people would have known as a human body.

"That better not be what I think it fuckin' is," Rita snarled, one hand braced on the coat of her jacket to flash her badge, "I may need to dig into deeper territory to get the answers those fuckers up above don't plan on gettin' but I'm still a fuckin' cop and if that's a goddamn body..."

Gregory's laughter from behind her was shrill and offending, her eyes swiveling to catch him lean back against a metal post. "Would we be so callous, ma'am, as to kill someone for bait to lure in the big fish? No, no, no, this little doll is worth far too much alive. Ms. Hanihen, meet Kyle."

The blanket was drawn back, the Mole tipping the minimally taller body to the concrete floor with an ease that showcased his strength despite his small size. The body was breathing, or hyperventilating was perhaps the better word. Roaring red hair named him as the Broflovski boy, a kid whose mother had been hounding the station for weeks about her son taking up with another man, Leopold Stotch. Of course, that was one case Hanihen had bypassed herself, who the hell wanted to be the one to tell the mother their kid was an ungrateful little runaway that was better off lost?

His green eyes were wide and furious, casting barely a glance in her direction before kicking out at the small man by his feet, his voice a muffled snarl beneath the cloth wrapped around his mouth. Had she known he was deeper in with the Knives than she had assumed, Hanihen would have tailed the brat herself.

"Who is he, then? I know he's a student but what's so special about him and how do you know he'll bring anyone out? Little shit like him can't be much of a fighter for a Knife, who's to say Cartman won't leave him out here to rot?"

The mention of Cartman's name had the boy twisting in the ropes that bound his upper body, his knees bending to push him somewhat upright so that he could stare up at her, a narrow glare to his eyes that had Rita about ready to knee him in the face just to see him back on the ground. Good looking lad or not, there was something vicious in that glare that had her backing up, maybe he was a Knife?

"Zis is not a Knife, fool," The Mole spat, crouching low to offer the wary redhead a soft gaze that spoke of a past between them, "Zis is Kyle."

Hanihen snapped, turning on the blonde behind her. "Ya, I know his name is Kyle, but who the fuck is he to Eric Cartman?"

"He's mine."

The voice was as sleek as she had expected it to be, smooth and unperturbed that someone of importance to him was bound and gagged on the filthy ground, his muffled shouting shrill and panicked despite the cloth that shushed him. "Hush, Kyle."

Hanihen turned, she hadn't heard a car approach, and yet there he stood behind her. He was taller than his meagre file displayed, skinnier too. His shoulders were about the only thing broad about him, his brown hair drawn back in a tie and his body encased in what looked to be thin red cashmere and finely tailored trousers. A fucking show off, like she knew he would be. Eric Cartman was nothing more than a criminal who fed off the fear and money of those weaker than himself and he fucking thrived because of it.

Two men stood to either side of him, one a long-limbed blonde half lost to the shadows and decked in an orange parka with a hood that eclipsed his eyes. His tawny hair stood in disarray from beneath the hood, uncombed, and his hands were placed so carefully within the pockets of his blue jeans, as though he had simply been out for an evening stroll with nothing but a vest shirt and unzipped parka to keep him warm. The half-tilted smile that graced his face rang something of a bell in her mind, unclear but with one hell of a warning. This one had a file up in Park County Police Station.

The other was less familiar, his arms crossed over the blue hoody he wore and a scowl affixed to his pale face as though he had lost an argument and was forced to stand where he was. His dark hair glistened as though wet beneath what light he had stepped into and, as she watched, he turned his head once and then twice in what could have only been a signal. Who knew how many others were behind him hidden still in the shadows?

Fierce eyes rounded on Gregory, only to find the blonde sat on the cold floor, his arms wrapped securely around the tied up redhead and his lips split in a smile that was cold as it was calculated. "You fucking tricked me."

"Now, now ma'am," Gregory tsked, hooking a finger around Kyle's gag to pull the cloth free of the boy's mouth, earning a dry snarl for his troubles. "I promised you that I would get you an audience with the Boss, I promised that I would gift you with exactly what you were looking for, did I not? It is no fault of mine that you chose never to ask where my loyalties lay." The Mole was snickering, his cigarette forgotten between his pale fingers as he watched the scene with open amusement.

"Run now, madam, and you may live until ze morning."

The police woman shifted on her feet, her eyes wild as she took in the men across from her. Her hand twisted for her gun, only for her boots to turn at the last second as she propelled herself towards her car, swinging the door wide and then shut behind her. Eric watched her with slanted eyes, his hand raised to still his men until the sound of the car engine revved to life, as unhealthy as a car that had been toyed with day in and day out by Red for the past week could be. Just alive enough that it would give her a whisper of hope. He tipped his hand forward with a grin as the tires screeched against the rough ground, the lights disappearing around the corner of the building seconds before the Knives and Eric himself took off at a run. She would never make it to the front gate and he so fucking loved a chase.

Hanihen cursed, slamming her hands against the wheel as the lights flashed dangerously across her dash, her speed slowing to near crippling levels. Her fucking car had been messed with! Eyes seeking out the gun closest to her, she swore as her front bumper collided with something solid, probably another one of those fucking metal pillars. It was the final blow for the old machine, the brake screeching beneath her foot in just enough time to send her sloped bonnet slamming into the front of a car that had just turned to make its way into the abandoned lot. Well, fuck.

###

Damian snarled, one hand whipping out to slice through the airbag of his car with a blade he had strapped to one thigh. His fucking nose was going to bruise, he just fucking knew it. What fucking moron came out of a lot that fucking quickly? He cast a glance at the back, glad to find Token, Clyde and Roo already making their way out of the ruined car, guns in hand and scowls in place. Well, except for Roo, that lunatic looked like a kid in a fucking candy store.

A whine brought his eyes snapping up towards the front seat, the air bag hiding Pip where the blonde had just seconds ago been searching the dark for any signs of the Knives. The furious gang leader watched weak hands slap against the cushion's snail-like deflation before he sliced the canvas himself, a dark scowl twisting his features as Pip glanced up at him with pathetic green eyes, his bloody nose cupped with both hands.

"Don't move your ass out of this fucking car, Philip, am I understood? And don't tilt your head back, fool."

He watched Pip nod gently, his hands already seeking out the emergency first aid pack kept in every one the Hell Raiser's cars. With the boy stilled for the moment, Damian stalked from the car, slamming the door shut behind him with a click of the keys to ensure his blonde wouldn't be targeted. Fuck, the last thing he had expected on a Friday fucking evening was to be dragged into a brawl, and with a goddamn cop no less. When they had finally gotten through to Ghost and the kid had explained it, Damian had all but bit his head off through the phone for their lousy planning. Cartman may have ninety-nine per cent of the police force under his thumb or willing to turn a blind eye but a cop hot on a Boss' tail wasn't something the leader brought down himself. That was right up there with 'don't get caught with a gun' and 'sell the drugs through a third party'. Fuck, he thought Eric would have more brains than this, but the kid was young and risky.

He saw her instantly, everything about her screamed aggression as she was boxed against a wall to their far right, Roo cooing nonsense at her and Clyde watching the steady approach of the Knives as she held out her gun with a steady arm. Frightened as she may have been, this was a woman who was more than willing to take as many people out with her as possible. A nasty tail if ever he had seen one. She rang off a firing shot as Roo stepped too close, the lean blonde shrieking with laughter as he sprung away from where the bullet had hit beside his feet. Another kid that needed reigning in, Damian rolled his eyes. Imbeciles.

Hanihen was trapped. She knew it. She would die here and her body would turn up months later and she would be filed off as one of South Park's many accidents, she fucking knew it. The trigger was cool beneath her finger as she let loose another shot, this one aimed at the Mole as he sauntered too close, his lips split in a grin and what looked like a shovel carried over his shoulder lazily. He scowled at her aim, tossing his cigarette to the floor and grinding it beneath his foot. "Zis one, I will not weep for."

"You can't just kill her!" Her eyes snapped again, taking in the petite redhead that had clearly been released from his bindings, his green eyes furious as he tried to grab a hold of Eric Cartman's arm and drag him to a standstill. The attempts were feeble, ceased when Eric ruffled a hand through his curls and hushed him. The bait, but it had been her own trap she had been discussing, not Eric fucking Cartman's. Kyle Broflovski had been nothing more than a worm to put her at ease, draw her away from her car and keep her talking while the lion crept up on her from behind. Who the fuck was he to be the death of her? Who the fuck was he to be mixed in with this shit, the kid looked green in the face and had a hand clapped over his mouth as though he had never so much as seen a fly swatted. Well, if he was in pain watching her suffer, it was only her duty to put him out of his misery. Her gun snapped upwards, the barrel pointed between his bright green eyes as he stared up at her. No sound met her save for the screech of car wheels skidding to a halt and the blood rushing in her own ears. If this was what was important to the almighty Boss, she would bring him to his fucking knees and take it from him.

Her gunshot broke the spell of silence, the sound of yells and weapons being drawn filling the dark space once more seconds before Kyle Broflovski was pushed from where he stood and the speeding bullet embedding itself in the chest of another.

In the silence that followed the high-pitched shriek of pain, Hanihen ran, her feet carrying her away through the gap she made as she shot at the tawny haired blonde that had cornered her when she got out of the car. With bare a glance behind her, she flung herself through the open door of the nearest car and slammed the pedal beneath her boot, taking off before the door had even completely shut behind her.

###

Kenny felt the blades slide from his hands, their clang as they hit the concrete so... very... loud. 

He took a step forward, his breath hitching in his throat as he sank to his knees, pale hands stretching out over the gasping, writhing thing beneath them.

"Shh," His lips seemed numb, cold, the words hard to form, "don't move, Princess."

Butters stared up at him, his blue eyes dark, darker than Kenny had ever seen them. His breath hitched on each in-drawn gasp, something wet and strangled. Kenny clamped his hands over where the boy's own lay shaking, a broken sound leaving him at the blood that seeped between his fingers, dark and hot.

"Get the fucking lights on!" Cartman snarled, pushing a mobile phone into Stan's pale hands and ordering him to call an ambulance. The gang leader watched his friend bow over the smaller blonde as he pointed Henrietta to the main flood lights station, directing Gregory to take off with everyone else less the ambulance crew start asking more questions than they already would. His eyes swept across the lot, narrowing as they caught on Damian coming his way, a wad of medical gauze in his hands and a terrified Pip following pale-faced and doe-eyed behind him. His nose was bleeding.

Light flooded the lot, highlighting every darkened corner as Damian bowed to press the medical gauze beneath Kenny's frozen hands, his fingers pinching the pale skin of Butters' neck to keep the boy's fluttering lids from closing shut. Kyle had slunk to his knees beside them, his arms wrapped around a sobbing Tweek as the taller blonde spasmed in his grasp, one sure second away from an all out attack. Cartman leveled a glare at Craig, an order; 'get them away from him, for fuck sake, get them away.' He was met with only a haunted look in the boy's eyes. He would have put the blame on Butters and Butters alone for dragging Tweek and Craig out here, because it would have been the stupid fucking idiot alone that would try something so fucking...

"Damn it, Butters." Cartman hissed, his eyes meeting Damian's stare for a split second before a scream ripped through the lot. The brunette was moving before the thought registered, his steps quick as he barreled through the boys still lingering around to find the source; a black haired form, draped over something tall and barely moving on the ground. What the fuck was going on here? Cartman stalked closer, taking in the terrified blue eyes streaked with eyeliner turned towards him, a sob leaving the young goth's lips. "What happened, Firkle?" Cartman bent low, his mouth twisting in a grimace as the figure the young Knife had been clinging to came into view, his left arm mangled and a pool of telltale darkness beneath his head. 

Ike Broflovski had never looked so small. 

In his trademark pink-chequered pullover and with his kohl-lined eyes sealed shut, the kid looked like one of the dead. Roo crouched beside him, fingers reaching out to tap against the boy's neck in the same instance that Eric reached for his battered wrist. The youth's body suddenly heaved, blood spitting from his mouth as he blinked open dark eyes full of tears, his teeth gritting against the sudden light. 

"Ike, w-what happened? Why are you even out here?" Firkle was heaving with each breath, his sobs relentless as he ran his thumbs beneath the younger boy's lips, smudging the blood that stained there. Ike smiled at the touch, before a grimace ripped through his features.

"Heard B-butters on t'phone, S-superman. S-spotted H-henri..H-hen.. retta's car after y-you left and f-follow'd on m'b-bike. S-somethin' h-hit me...?" The words bubbled with blood, the boy's eyes rolling back in his head as he passed out. Eric sighed, Henrietta had been the last car load to arrive and had gone through Ike's neighbourhood to come by the back entrance. He had followed them out here and, by the looks of it, nearly been taken clean out by that stupid fucking bitch of a cop.

Fuck, Kyle was going to kill him. 

Cartman's eyes slanted to a glare, glancing up to find Stan and Wendy heading his way, eyes furious and filled with fear. His gaze darted across the lot, to where Kenny was staring into nothing, front soaked in blood as he held the small, jerking, gasping form of Leopold Stotch in his arms. 

Kyle could kill him, he deserved no less; but not before he had Hanihen hung from a hook and sliced from belly button to fucking throat. He would paint the fucking town with her blood.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Stan blew a ragged breath from between lips bitten to bleeding point, his fingers carding through thick dark hair as he rested his face against his palm, forehead hot to the touch. His right leg jittered with nervous tension, an incessant rhythm that un-steadied his elbow where it rested against his knee, the reminder of the gun secured to the small of his back the only thing that served to calm his shattered nerves for even the briefest of moments.

The teen heaved a sigh, straightening his spine against the hard-backed plastic chairs with the unsubstantial seat cushioning, his dark eyes narrowed to a slit as he took in the near muted television flashing happily in one high corner. A young child in front of him squealed every so often as the colours danced along to some unknown cartoon.

The waiting room was small and cramped, stuffed full of shitty seats half-filled with run down mothers and hacking kids, older men with injuries all varying in severity and a handful of elderly looking as though they wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible. The noirette cracked his knuckles loudly, it was by no coincidence that he was given the most room in the ER waiting area. He may not have been known as the Gunner who had emptied bullets into stupid kids as young as sixteen, but he was well known as Stan Marsh, friend to the one and only Eric Cartman and a dedicated Knife; his lips dragging back in a sneer aimed at the gossipy fucks who were brave enough to look at him.

There was a shuffle of cloth against seat, his head turning from the gibbering child to take in Wendy's pale face. The girl was decked still in her trademark skinny black clothes, his own blue hoody tossed over her shoulders since she had ventured outside to direct orders to the Knives that Boss had sent home to keep watch out. "Any word?"

Her voice was quiet, her eyes uncaring of the women who sent her looks of pity, certain in their ignorance that Wendy was nothing more than a poor girl in love caught up with the wrong crowd. Stan reached out to tug the jacket collar closer around her, the chill within the small room something that bothered him only where his partner was concerned. His arms could barely feel the cold beyond the icy draft that blew in each time some new misfortune shuffled through the doors to wait an eternity to be seen by someone who held something more than a Nursing Diploma.

"No, Legs," he offered a small smile, "but Boss' glare goes far with the docs at this Hell-hole of a hospital, so I'm guessin' it won't be long before him and Killer, and maybe Kyle, are in here with us."

Wendy nodded once, one hand lifting to rub against her eyes. "Omen's holdin' fort on our street. Treaty or no, he's the only one keepin' the lads from burnin' the police department to the ground with or without Hanihen inside it. Can't say I even believe she would go there, though. She'll hide out 'till morning."

"She won't hide for long." Stan hissed, fingers clenching against the blue of his jeans in a move that had the mother and kid across from him standing up and moving to another spot. "The Police are loyal to us, we keep this godforsaken town outta trouble. We keep the murder rate to a fucking minimum and we keep the dealings clean. The cops know that, the fuckin' mayor knows that, it's why we've had it good for so long, dammit. The fuckers in this shit-hole should be fuckin' worshiping us. That bitch is the fuckin' monster here."

"Boss' always had a thing for drama, Gunner, he could have dealt with her quietly and no one would have batted an eye." Wendy sighed, pushing her shoulder against Stan's softly before taking his hand, her own fingers stiff from holding a cell phone in the cold for so long. "He's been plottin' this for weeks with Greg and the Mole, and those two are just as dramatic."

"But..."

"He needed to make a statement, I know." Wendy scratched one cheek absently, tucking her legs up beneath her on the cold chair, "I know people are gettin' mouthy and there's more and more thinkin' they can get away with shit, like Mackey and those kids who wanted to start up their own gang. I'm just saying, maybe havin' Omen involved in this, we could have done it cleaner. The guy's older, he came in here so quick. Maybe Boss should mention a Pact."

Stan snorted at the idea of Cartman going halves with anyone, but then again, the Boss had already gone halves with Omen for the sake of Kyle's protection. Maybe there was something to be said for love, or at least obsession, softening a guy out a little. He glanced at Wendy, matched her soft smile with one of his own. "I'd say after tonight, he'd be willin' to listen to anyone, especially after Hanihen made it so clear that she was aimin' for Kyle. Wendy..." his voice cracked, head tilting back to expose his throat before he stared forward with a blank stare, "do you think he'll be alright?"

"Who?" The girl scooted closer, fingers clenched around Stan's hand, "Kyle? Ike? Butters?" She stilled for a moment, a small snort of laughter leaving her lips, "Roo?"

Stan laughed with her, a bark of surprise at the memory of Roo spitting fire at the paramedics as they ushered him into the front of the ambulance, uncaring of his shouting that he was "fucking fine" and to "leave off already!". The tawny blonde had been stitched up within minutes of arrival after the shot Hanihen had delivered to his arm, a sterile bandage and a scowl his souvenirs as he stalked from the hospital to await a lift from one of the other Hell Raisers. It had been an almost ease to the tension of having to stay behind as Butters and Ike were wheeled away with Kyle hot on the heels of the doctors that would tend to his brother. Kenny had gone the other direction with a silent Butters, the infamous Killer looking like nothing more than a broken man about to lose everything. It had been Boss that had demanded the trio be allowed to stay within the more private rooms of the hospital until they were given a status report; whether that be good or bad.

He opened his mouth to reply, to add anything, be it useful or not, to the tension around them only for a blast of cold air to have him glancing up at the doors to see who had come in to the ER now.

"Oh, hell no."

Stan all but sprung from his seat, his arms rigid by his side as he moved to block the advance of the pair that had entered, standing between them and the receptionist. "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

Stephen Stotch was by no means a large man, standing almost an inch beneath Stan's average frame. Despite that and despite the clothes he wore as if he was forever about to attend church on a Sunday, the man gave off an aura that had always unnerved the younger boy. Kind though he seemed to his neighbours and his wife, he was a bully beneath it all. His wife, Linda, stood to one side, her eyes rimmed to the perfect shade of red, the perfect amount of tears shed for her poor injured son, though Stan doubted whether the woman would ever truly weep for her own child.

"We're here to see, Butters, of course!" her voice was simpering, her hands held clasped against her chest, the picture of maternal tragedy.

"You are in your fuck."

"How dare you speak to us in such a manner, young man!" Stephen began, drawing a snarl from Stan as the teenager stalked closer, mere inches from the man he had seen spit poison in the ear of his friend, beat him down with words time and time again when they were too young to prevent it. Hell, the only reason the man was allowed his monthly meals with his son was for the sake of keeping Butters from any pain and Stan doubted they would have taken place had Kenny not succumbed to the blonde boy's sobs that he had broken up his family. As far as Stan was concerned, the family had been broken for years.

"You aren't going near Butters until he's safe back home with Kenny, and even then, you can wait 'till he's back on his feet. As if we'd let some two-faced excuse of a father like you at Butters when he's sick." Wendy was beside him now, smiling pleasant at the woman behind the reception desk as she urged her to stay put, stay sitting down, no point getting the place up in a panic for a little family dispute, after all.

"They rang us!" Linda shrilled, pointing a finger at the woman now frowning at her from behind the counter, "they said he'd been shot! By one of you, no doubt! You tried to kill my baby and now you want to take away my last ever chance to see him! He could be dead already!" Her sobbing began anew, her sighs tortured and her tears swift though her voice remained steady and she clutched her husband's arm dramatically, "Oh, my Butters, my beautiful little boy!"

There were people murmuring, tension skyrocketing as men debated intervening on what could only by a street hooligan trying to hassle a poor family in their tragic moment. Stan growled low in his throat, side-stepping when Stephen attempted to stride past him, his hand flying out to brace against the man's chest. "I said you're not goin' in there," the Knife sighed lowly, his eyes darting to take in the furious glares of the women still seated with their children and the elderly gentleman shaking his head. "You can see Butters when Kenny says you can see Butters, he is his legal guardian, Mr. Stotch."

"I'll bet he's already dead," Stephan hissed suddenly, drawing a look of disbelief from his frozen wife and setting Stan on edge. "I'll bet you fuckers killed him 'cause he wouldn't do what ye wanted him to do. You bastards destroyed my family by taking him from me, destroyed our routine and now you've gotten rid of him for good. He's dead, isn't he?"

There was a familiar click, the sound ingrained enough within Stan to have him backing up immediately, his eyes taking in the cool, metal barrel that had appeared beside his face. He stepped back, dark eyes fixed on the familiar gun and the hand that gripped the handle with such ease, one pale finger held steadily over the trigger as the thumb lifted to fully take off the safety of the weapon.

"He isn't dead, but you will be if you don't get out of my sight."

Killer's voice was deathly low, steady and with all the emptiness that made the man such a perfect... weapon.

Stan drew back until he was braced against the corner of the reception desk, one arm darting out to still the receptionist where the woman had reached for the phone, his head turning in the barest of shakes. Killer wore his ever-present orange hoody, the front stained with the morbidly dark streaks of what could only be Butter's blood. His jeans were destroyed in the stains, his hood down to show his crimson-streaked blonde curls; as though the man had dragged blood-soaked hands through his hair in desperation and worry. When Stephen opened his mouth to speak, the gun was pressed against his temple with a speed only a fellow Knife could match, Killer's dark blue eyes a shade of almost-black as he continued to stare down the older man.

There were women shrieking like abandoned infants, their arms around children both scared and unsure of what exactly was happening. The sick and injured had stood at the sight of a man with a gun, but with the realisation of who they were looking at, they had all but scrambled for the far back of the room, uncaring of who they stepped on in the process of self-preservation.

Killer blinked slowly, more than likely deaf to the scene he had created. "I said, go."

It was Linda who moved first, tugging on her husband's shirt until he slid back a pace, and then another, and another, before twisting with one final look of loathing at the young blonde and all but shoving his wife out the Emergency Room's sliding doors. The gun Killer held dropped to the floor with a noise that had Stan wincing, the blonde seemed to sway uneasily, his blue eyes searching.

"Stan?"

"I got ya, Kenny." The noirette had moved forward, pulling the blonde's arm over his shoulder and all but dragging him from the room. Wendy would settle everything back down, or Boss would, as it was easy to assume that Kenny's arrival meant the Boss wasn't far behind him. He led the trembling figure to an outside bench not far from the main entrance, plopping him down on the stone seat with a groan that was mirrored by the blonde.

"How are you, Ken?"

Kenny's gaze was wild, his eyes snapping to Stan as a dry sob broke his lips. "How am I?" he whispered, "How am I... He's dying!"

The words had Stan flinching back from where he had crouched before the blonde, thin face paling. "Butters is strong, Ken..."

Kenny moaned, a weak pitiful sound, "Oh Gods I don't know... the bullet went through so much... It damaged so much... There was so much blood. If they can't fix him in time, he's gone, he'll just... be gone." Stan jolted as the taller collided with him, throwing himself from his seat to wrap his arms around Stan's neck and pushing them both to the cold, stone floor. "Please, God, don't take him from me... What'll I do? What'll I do without him, Stan? Butters can't, he can't just go away..." The blonde's thin frame wracked with the force of his tears, and Stan held him closer, his own breath hitching in his throat. He listened to Kenny's desperate pleas, and added a few silent ones of his own. Butters couldn't just leave them. He wouldn't...

###

"You're an idiot."

"Yes, I've been told several times by Firkle before the ambulance carted me away, thank you, I needed to hear it one more time."

"A big fucking idiot."

Ike turned his head against the sheets to glare at his older brother, wincing when the action brought with it a spike of pain. Stitches in the back of one's skull were no laughing matter.

"You're fucking blessed you didn't rupture an organ, Ike, do you have any idea how quickly that car was going? How quickly you could have died?"

"Or how quickly you could have died had you been in my place?" Ike growled, his eyes straining to where his arm lay in a cast from broken wrist to fractured elbow. His body was throbbing beneath the thick covers, littered in bruises that would take fucking weeks to heal. Fuck, anesthetic or no, that was painful.

"What do you mean?"

The younger brother turned again to look at Kyle, taking in the shock of red hair and eyes so tired with tears they looked almost bruised. It had been weeks since Ike had really looked at his brother, longer still since the pair had been in the same room alone for more than five minutes. Still, despite the tears and despite the fear that clouded the redhead's eyes, Kyle had never looked better. He had gained what pathetic little weight he had needed to become healthy looking since he had taken up living with Eric. Nevertheless, it didn't take from the fact that Butters had been near hysterical over that phone call he had heard with Ike, hysterical because Kyle was gone. Again.

"I thought you'd been fuckin' targeted, Kyle," Ike sniffed, dark brown eyes locking with green. "I thought someone had gotten to you to get to Eric and that you'd be killed. What was I supposed to do, wait at home for a phone call to say you'd been found with a bullet in your skull? I needed to know what was going on."

"Oh, Ike," Kyle's tears began anew, the redhead slouching over the bed to bury his face in his arms. The younger brother sighed, his good hand lifting to card through Kyle's wayward curls.

"I'm alright, you know." He said softly, eyes staring up at the shadows created from the dim light of the bedside lamp. "I can go home to mom and dad and get an earful for walking into a car and bein' out so late and get coddled for months and wake up one morning completely good as new; nothing to worry about beyond makin' sure my Superman doesn't get himself goosed." He frowned, glancing down at where Kyle stared up at him. "You, though, you're not alright."

"But I-"

"You're gonna go home to Cartman and have what little protection he can offer you in that house and have a target on your head every time you leave those four walls. You're in love and he's in love and the two of you are so intent on possessing one another you can't see that he's your kryptonite."

"This isn't a superhero movie, Ike," Kyle's voice was strangled, his fingers clenching in the soft cotton of the bedspread, "we can't just fly away from the villains and be everyone's hero. In real life, we are the villains and the woman who did this to you, she's the hero. What would you have me do, Ike? Leave him? Go back home? I can't... I can't go back there and live like a nobody... It doesn't matter what I do now, people are gonna try and hurt me to get to him, I know that, this is the deal I signed on for when I fell for the great, big bully."

"I need him to protect you Kyle," Ike whispered, his eyes downcast and his black fringe falling against his face in a style so unlike Ike's usual perfection. The younger boy, though taller and wise beyond his years, looked so very small against the sterile white sheets of the hospital bed, so much the picture of a younger sibling in need of reassurance that Kyle grasped his hand, playing with the digits idly until Ike sighed.

"I was offered a scholarship, to an expensive, sports boarding school fucking miles from here, one I applied to in secret." he spoke suddenly, eyes trained on the ceiling. "I couldn't come home at weekends, only holidays and even then, if I find any excuse to avoid the twenty questions I'll get from Mom, I'll take it." The boy sniffed, shrugging one shoulder aimlessly, "I'm supposed to be leaving next September for the new semester, but I can't... I won't go Kyle if I know you're in danger here..." His brother's sniffles turned to sudden sobs, the boy's thin shoulders rounding as though to protect himself. "I couldn't have left you with Mom and Dad and I had hoped, with Eric, you'd at least be happy and safe. I'd really considered going. But not if I can't be here to help you, Kyle. Not if I might someday get a call saying you'd been killed. Fuck, I'd never forgive myself."

Kyle tsked, a soft sound as the redhead stood suddenly, scooting his backside up onto the soft mattress instead to lie against the unbroken side of his baby brother. His fingers locked around Ike's good wrist and dragged the youth's face down gently, until Ike's dark eyes met his own and he could wipe the tears from the boy's eyes. "You're an idiot, Ike."

The black haired teen snorted, his laugh choked but bright. "I don't need a cuddle to break that kinda news, Kyle, like I said I get told it multiple times a day."

Kyle shook his head, one corner of his mouth twisting upwards. "But you're also one of the smartest people I've ever met. You're incredible, one of a goddamn kind... and I will never be reason enough to hold yourself back from something amazing." He scowled, pressing a hand over Ike's mouth when the younger boy made as though to intervene. "Ike, you gotta take this scholarship. You have got to get out of this town and go be something amazing, do something amazing. You, out of everyone, can do something worth doing. I'll always be your brother, Ike, and I'll always be here for holidays and visits, even if I have to wear a stupid bullet-proof vest."

The redhead chuckled, a soft sigh escaping him. "I'll be okay, little brother. I've got a good thing here, even if it's the furthest thing from what I would have expected to be good. Danger is a thing we all gotta deal with and we've all gotta take risks in life. I've taken my risks and I'll keep taking them with Eric by my side until the day I take one too many. But you, you've gotta take your own risks... kryptonite or no kryptonite. Get it?"

Ike nodded shortly, his nose wrinkling with each small sniff. "Got it, Kyle."

###

The monitor blipped back to life, the aged machines whirring to take control of the situation now that some semblance of a response had been received. The man who watched them took a step back, his hands releasing the handles of the tools that had started the patient's heart once more, uncaring of the clatter they made as the nurse rushed to take them from him.

That insignificant blip was a miracle in its own, uneven and shallow enough to form a frown upon the doctor's brow, but it was there. It was there. He was sure he had lost him. He was sure that final job of patching the last bit of tear, the sudden spurt of blood, had warranted the boy's death. The stitching had only just been completed when the boy's heartbeat had vanished, his steady pulse gone before a thing could be done. It was sheer stubbornness alone that had brought him back.

The Doctor sighed, reaching out to fix a large hand over the boy's small chest as the surgeon worked on stapling his stomach. He looked down into a face flushed pink with fever, butter-yellow hair swathed away from his forehead.

"We're not out of the woods yet, boy, but you got a guardian angel lookin' out for you."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Pip hissed, a whimpered breath sucked in through trembling lips.

Damian sighed, fingers quick to smooth against the soft skin of the boy's cheeks, brushing against the dark bruises that had quickly spread across the bridge of Pip's now straightened nose. The dark splotches swelled beneath his watery green eyes, painful to look at, but no doubt more painful to the touch.

"You're lucky it was only minor damage. The force of that air bag could have left you with a crooked nose and then where would you be? How could I possibly have a deformed Queen by my side?"

The joke went unheeded in Pip's pain-filled mind, his nose crinkling in a sniff as he brought those tear-clouded eyes up to stare at Damian. "You would abandon me?"

Damian peered down at the blonde, so much like that tear streaked vision in his memory of his first encounter with Pip. Little had changed in the seemingly endless years the blonde had been by his side. Youth still radiated from him, innocence his centre core despite all that he had seen in his short life. How could something so pure, so utterly good ever want to remain a part of the necessary evil that was Omen and his Hell Raisers?

"I could never abandon you, Pipsqueak. You keep me from being dragged all the way to Hell. You're my light." Damian's voice was a gentle hum in the silence that was Eric Cartman's kitchen, the pair of them alone for the moment to allow Damian the time to tend to Pip's broken nose. It wouldn't last for long, peace rarely did in places like South Park.

A weak smile was sent his way, a cheek gently rubbed against his palm before Pip sighed and slid down from the table top. His fingers touched the tender part of his nose even as Damian slapped his hand away gently, closing off the bruising with a sterile white pad he had gotten from a first aid box an unknown Knife had tossed when he had asked. The kid had been rattled. They all were. The Knives were unnerved with the wounding of the little blonde, that was for certain. Though Omen knew little of who this Butters was, beyond the friendly banter Pip so graciously supplied him with, it was obvious the boy was a key link to keeping the young gang together.

Or maybe it was Killer.

Damian steered Pip through the hallway, one hand on the smaller boy's shoulder as he moved towards the sitting room. Though not a Knife by any means, and holding no loyalty to the Boss beyond their shared truce, it was easy to assume who was in charge of the whole mess that was the group in the front room. His three men remained in one corner, Clyde and Token uneasy and tense in their stance and Roo sprawled across the love seat glaring daggers at anyone who ventured too close. His bound arm could be the only source of the boy's foul mood, Damian knew the lanky blonde was no fan of hospitals, and with good reason.

The Knives themselves were few in main operatives. The new recruits or less important of the crew were outside trawling the streets for a particular police officer, or grouped in crowds of three and four across the main Knife territory; a street that had almost become a town in its own right, Damian was impressed to note. So cut off. So protected.

The Boss was the Boss, that much was obvious. The little weapons followed Cartman with not even a whisper of contempt, fully confident in everything the man did. With Eric out of action, rule and order usually fell to one Kenny McCormack, a nineteen-year-old killing machine if his records on the South Park police data base had been anything to go by. The blonde had been acquitted twice in his short span of teenage delinquency, without even a full trial; a reformation, as far as the paid pigs of South Park police force were concerned. Despite his miraculous reformation, his alias as Killer was possibly one of the most feared in all of Park County; a veritable Boogeyman. Damian would have felt his own confidence waver had he himself been forced to come head to head with that particular blonde demon in the aftermath of all this mess. Had he not seen the man collapse into shock beside the bleeding little thing he refused to let go of, he would have sicked his own men on him to prevent the youth from tearing apart the town in search of Officer Hanihen. There was only so much unplanned carnage he would tolerate. Kenny McCormack was carnage incarnate. 

Damian supposed the third in charge was then the black haired youth who had introduced himself as Gunner and announced that all the Knives follow Omen back to familiar grounds and hold fort until further notice. Not seconds later, he had climbed into a car with the long legged beauty and taken off after Boss' trademark car. That beauty, Damian had soon discovered, was Eric's fourth, a bossy well-spoken mare by the name of Wendy who had wasted no time in getting in contact to demand Omen fill her in on all accounts before directing orders for the newer recruits to go on search.

Boss' kids were smart and vicious, there was no denying that. Despite their young smiles and the confused faces that had turned in his direction as he and his boys set foot on Knife territory, they were a well organised team. That each and every one of them was so fucking young he felt ancient in comparison was the only problem in his eyes. These were kids, well armed, well educated, well trained kids. The man by the alias of Ghost had yet to lose the blank look to his scarred face, his eyes trained on the ceiling as his arms wound around the spasming blonde in his lap. His face remained impassive despite the bouts of dangerous twitching the younger boy dissolved into time and time again. Too jerky and too unnatural to warrant anything but concern, the blonde had bypassed the ability to speak and fell into fits of harsh screaming that had led to Clyde's hands holding down the boy's legs for a solid twenty minutes. It seemed now though, that he had calmed somewhat, his twitching evenly spaced and his tired eyes almost shut as he peered unseeingly out at the room. As much horror as he had seen in his life, Damian did not even want to fucking know what that poor bastard's past had been like. He passed with a raise of one brow, catching Ghost's eye and garnering a raised brow in return before the dark haired youth went back to staring at the ceiling, his hand rubbing slowly up and then down the twitching boy's thin, pale arm.

The other young woman was an energy all her own, wound so tight she seemed ready to explode. Though small, with round hips and a round face that would usually be sweet, she vibrated with a spiteful energy. Her jet black hair was wild, fingers clad in silver rings having torn through it one too many times. Her dark eyes were rimmed with kohl, a trait she shared with the tiny creature curled in on himself in the chair she paced behind. Though dry for now, the boy's cheeks were stained a dull black from the tears that had dragged through his eye make up, his expression hollow as he flickered his gaze up at Damian once before staring back down at the floor. This was the Kid that had been watching after his Pip in school. He had done a good job too, Damian knew, had prevented Pip from bullying so perfectly that the blonde had not even been aware that he had been a target. Strong despite his naivety, it pained Damian to see him so broken knowing his unknown partner could be fighting for his life in a hospital Boss had denied him from entering.

A hand came down upon the Kid's head, Damian's eyes following it to where he was met with a blank stare, the goth girl's face impassive as she watched him. For a moment, something inside the gang leader ached, a loss for a friend and an ally whose death could have been avoided. Stupidity and rash decision was a thing that could and would get you killed in this line of work. Still, he couldn not help but feel the pair of small goth kids looked somehow misshapen, as though they had been a group now torn apart. A strange notion, seeing as the pair had never met with either Red or Poe in a neutral way. Still...

"Did you hear from Boss, then?"

It was the female Goth who had spoken, her black lips pressed thin as she moved her body to hide the younger boy from Damian's gaze, a thing the gang leader doubted she even realised she was doing. He stared down at her, taking in the narrow slant to her dark eyes as she trailed brazen eyes over the black markings of his arm, before bringing her stare up to lock with his. His lips curled.

"In work such as ours, it is safe to assume that no news is good news." Damian released his hold on Pip's shoulder, nudging him gently to the couch where Roo took it upon himself to curl protectively around the smaller blonde, his bright eyes narrowed. Damian turned slowly on his heel, taking in the final three unknown Knives; a redhead with a nervous tick to her gun holding hand and a blonde of supreme pedigree wrapped securely around a raven haired youth who had yet to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth, nor discard the shovel he had swung over one shoulder. All but the dark haired goth watched him without word, without question. Obedience was something he had always demanded.

"Sit up." Damian growled suddenly, catching the eye of the huddled figure behind the glaring goth girl. The boy jolted, his shoulders hitching as if to obey before the woman in front of him forced him still with a hand on his shoulder and a spark to her eyes.

"He can damn well lie down if he wants to lie down!"

The silence of the room seemed to deepen, Damian's own men tensing with a sudden stillness seconds before the red eyed man darted across the room, his hand snapping out to grip the woman's elbow and twist it behind her back in a cruel move that had her hissing between clenched teeth. He paid her snapped remarks no mind, his eyes glaring down at the youth that watched him wide-eyed from his position on the couch.

"I said, sit up."

Firkle rose slowly, hands braced against the soft material of the seat cushions as he straightened his spine against the soft back, his head tilted in something that could have been defiance, had it not been for the distraught cast to his dark eyes. Damian let the girl go with a small push, sending her to her knees beside the couch. He glared her into a sullen silence, before darting red eyes towards the youth that had protected his Pip.

"He is alive, as he was alive when he was struck, as he will remain alive." He spoke slowly, making sure the words were heard through the boy's own morbid thoughts, until those blue eyes locked with his own. "But even if he were not; even if he were to die this second, you will remain upright. You will remain strong and you will not give in to your own decline into the shadows you find so fascinating." Damian moved as he spoke, a point of focus now for the depressing creatures that were the Knives. Ghost held tighter to the blonde in his arms, the boy's green eyes splayed wide as he focused on the leader of the Hell Raisers, his tremors stopped for the moment. The blonde with the leather gloves that played almost innocently through the dark hair of the French man holding the heavy shovel seemed to sharpen, the pair watching him through narrowed eyes.

The slow smile that spread across Damian's face was one of blatant authority, the smile of a man who knew he commanded the attention of a room just by being in it; an indulgent smile filled with patience.

"If you thought this was all fun and games, I've got bad news for you, kiddies."

###

~~~

He was crouched.

Hiding. 

He was hiding. 

He was hidden. 

He was hidden beneath a bed almost too large to be real. It stretched over his small frame with ease, disappearing into the distance in a drop of soft pink quilt covers. 

It was one of his favourite colours. 

He watched the room from beneath the inch wide gap beneath the bed, surveying a space that was both familiar and not. Had he been here before? Was he here now?

For now, it was empty.

His stomach hurt, the dim pain he would have associated with hunger, had it not felt different this time. 

Hunger could be ignored. 

This pain was deeper, raw to the point of bleeding though he saw no visible wounds on his skinny abdomen, nor did blood seep through his bright yellow sweater. He must have knocked against something in his sleep, he was so clumsy. Nothing he could do was right... So clumsy, such a bad son... 

This was why they locked him in his room. 

There was a bang as his bedroom door opened suddenly, slamming against a grey wall and admitting a pair of familiar, expensive brown loafers onto his old carpet. He curled further into himself, blue eyes blown wide as he watched those shoes make their way steadily forward. His heart beat an uneven rhythm against his chest, stuttering and weak... as the man in those brown shoes crept ever closer.

He was in trouble now.

Oh, he was caught. He had been found. He had done something stupid and wrong and bad and he wouldn't go unpunished for it. God, he was a fool. What was it this time, huh? 

Did you spill something? 

Did you leave a plate unwashed in the sink? 

God, had he been out late with the boys recently? 

He was going to be yelled at... His breath rasped from between his lips as those shoes stopped before his bed, creasing as the man in them bent to his knees, about to peer beneath the pink sheets.

His heart stopped, his fear drowning out the pain, the unstable rhythm until there remained nothing but white noise and the memory of those familiar brown shoes.

"What are you doing down here?"

Butters jumped, gasping for breath, his eyes snapping to the boy stretched out beside him. Had he been there a moment ago? 

The kid couldn't have been much older than himself, his dirty blonde hair wild around his thin face as he smiled over at Butters, the faded orange parka so familiar amidst the unnaturally sized bed and strange coloured walls. So familiar...

Oh!

He knew this boy. This was his boy. 

His friend. 

His Kenny. 

"Kenny? How d'you get under my bed?"

The blonde grinned, shaking his head. "Nuh uh, s'rude to answer a question with a question in't it? I asked you first, Butters, what are you doing under this bed again? Didn't I tell ya you'd never have to hide beneath this stupid bed no more?"

Butters nodded, the memory a soft one, a peaceful one filled with... Hope. He frowned, one hand cupping his chest where his heart seemed to have stopped inside him, before poking at the spot in his tummy where the mysterious pain seemed to have vanished for the moment. Should he be glad the hurt was gone? Something bad said that he might need it... Something darker... 

"I'm scared Ken, I'm so scared. I was so scared and it was the only safe place left."

Kenny was watching him, curled on his side with his head pillowed in the crook of his skinny arm. He nodded sagely, eyes steady. "It's okay to be scared, Butters. You did the right thing by hiding, but now you need to come back to me, okay?"

Butters watched the brown shoes still creased inches from the bed, his brow furrowed. 

"What if I can't? What if he won't let me? What if I get scared again?"

Kenny rolled onto his stomach, the smile on his lips a sweet one as he reached out to crawl from under the bed, Butters terrified hissing stopping short when the brown shoes melted to scuffed white sneakers. Old, ripped-denim clad legs bent to their knees seconds before a familiar hand lifted the pink sheets. Kenny's face, older now and with blue eyes a thousand times softer and wiser, peered in at him, those lips turning in a smile. He reached out a large hand, upturned and welcoming.

"I'll hide you, Butters. I'll be your safe place."

A childish giggle, a cheeky grin. "Like a knight in shining armour?"

Kenny's eyes were bright and shiny, his nose wrinkling in a sniff. "Sure thing, Princess, I'm your knight in shining armour."

With a nervous bite to his lips, Butters reached out to tuck his small hand safely into Kenny's larger palm, his heart giving a horrendous beat that had the pain in his abdomen returning tenfold. 

~~~

Butters rolled onto his side, waking with such a suddeness that his eyes were dizzy with shadows. The pain in his gut, in his chest, was felt like he had swallowed fire, leaving him a dry-heaving mess as he buried his fingers in the stiff sheets to try and anchor himself. He groaned, bile coating his throat and tears stinging his eyes as he tried to blink against the dim light of the room.

An unfamiliar room.

The blonde tried to sit with a start, his left hand unresponsive at first, sluggish, not moving beyond a gentle twitch that bowed beneath his weight. It sent him sprawling back against the thick pillows, his stomach clenching in response and sending agony shooting up his spine. What the fuck?

Butters whimpered, eyes wide as he stared around the unfamiliar yellow walls, the crisp white sheets and the window with the drawn curtains that let in a sliver of light. His breathing was laboured, his eyes fluttering to catch sight of the needle in his arm that led to the IV stand by his bed. God he hated needles. He looked away before his stomach had another chance to rebel, catching sight of the empty chair with all the panic of a young child deserted in a store.

"Kenny?"

The whisper was broken, harsh and rough. His lips parted over pained breaths, his mind struggling to bring back the memories of what had led him into this situation. The last he could recall, he had been happily watching television, curled up on his own couch and waiting for Kenny to come home. Had someone broken in? Oh God, was everyone alright? Had there been a fight?

"Kenny? Kenny?" The call was shaken but louder, his hand pressing against his aching stomach and flinching at the bandages it came into contact with. What happened?

"Kenny! KENNY!"

He was screaming and he knew it, his voice breaking with the force of his shrieking and his chest heaving with that same, fire-like pain. His door was slammed open, the two nurses that bustled in to check on him and calm him only bringing frustrated tears to his eyes.

"NO!" he screamed at the one who was tapping at the IV fluids, asking her comrade if he needed a dose of morphine. "Leave me alone and give me my boyfriend! Kenny! Kenny please! Please!"

Butters ignored their harried looks, their calls for help, struggling to leave the bed himself when they restrained him. He screamed blue murder, the pain of his stomach causing an ache against his head that he would regret later but for now, it didn't matter. He needed Kenny. He needed the blonde. He wasn't taking anything or agreeing to anything without...

"Shh, I have you. I have you, Butters, hush."

Butters stilled his screaming and thrashing as he was heaved backwards against a chest almost painfully familiar, the legs that boxed in his own uselessly weak limbs clad in denim that was so blood drenched it made Butters whimper to see it. Arms wrapped around him with a gentleness Kenny had not granted him since their first few weeks together and it broke his heart to feel it. "Kenny..."

The taller blonde was trembling, burying his nose in Butters hair as if his every sense needed to be occupied by the small blue eyed boy in his grasp. He ignored the nurses asking him to leave, snarling when one dared lay a hand on his shoulder until they left with worried eyes, and it was only the two of them. It was only then that the blonde broke, his sobs wracking his frame as he clutched Butters tighter, his fingers so very delicate against the sterile bandages.

"I thought I lost you... I thought I lost you... I thought you were gone..."

Butters sniffled brokenly, his hands rubbing rhythmically against the unclothed arms wrapped around his torso. He wanted to comfort, to be comforted, to wail and lament his lack of memories and mourn for the blood that stained Kenny from head to toe, whoever it may belong to. He wanted so much and at the same time, all he really wanted was his Kenny. So long as he had Kenny, he was safe. It would be okay, he clutched the man's fingers close as his eyes slipped shut, his mind fading fast to sleep. It would all be alright now.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Hanihen watched dawn break over the rundown, shabby excuse for a police station. The sunlight was weak at best, crawling over the still sleeping town like pale, trickles of ice. It seemed to highlight every shitty, little crevice it could. The wear and tear, the old buildings, the rubbish collecting in gutters. South Park was such a fucking shit-hole. The smell of flowers and fresh mountain air was almost a joke, sweet and pure and ridiculous when you took in the gouged numbers carved into doors and street signs slathered in red paint. The town was painted in red and grey, knife-marks scratching up benches and trees as if some fuckers just got plain destructive when bored. Maybe they did. They definitely did. The air was cold when she took a breath in, her teeth clenched tight against the bite of it even with the windows of the car up. 

The stolen car. 

The woman clenched her fingers over the leather of the steering wheel, wide eyes staring down un-blinking at the tremble of her knee against the peddle. She had stolen a car.   
She had stolen one of their cars and, now, she didn't have one fucking idea what to do. She darted a glance up at the police station, her breath dragging in through gritted teeth. With a groan, she threw herself back into the seat with a furious growl. 

She had shot a kid. 

She had shot a fucking kid. 

Blue eyes flashed across the front of her mind, wide and bright and fading fast. 

It had been the Stotch kid, she was sure of it. The one whose parents' complaints got fed straight to the shredder whenever they voiced their concerns with the police department. The one with the ridiculous name. Why the fuck had he moved? Why had he run in front of a fucking bullet like that? And all for nothing... A wasted fucking life... For him. 

Hanihen snarled, jostling the key in the ignition to start the car and slamming her hand on the button for the window. She gulped in the frigid air that spilled through, eyes blind to the rising sun, the trickle of condensation against the windows. 

Kyle fucking Broflovski. 

Who the fuck did that little scumbag think he was? Playing the part of the innocent schoolboy, the sweet little nerd who could do no wrong; while all the while he was fucking in on the whole thing! Where the fuck was his file in Park County station? He had to have a record. He had to have a file. He had to be behind the whole fucking run of the shit-show that was going on! Why else would they even waste their time and energy on the fucking ant?

The slow, trundle of her fellow police officers arriving sparked against her nerves. She stilled the engine, frozen as she watched them pile through the front gates, one nice, expensive car after the other. They all had nice cars. Every single fucking one of them. Who had cars like that on the pittance of a salary they were given?

Paid cops, that was who. Everyone of them must have been in on it, happy to turn a blind eye so long as their pockets were heavy with wealth and their desks were free of paperwork. How the fuck had she not seen it so clearly before? Every time she had caught the tail end of something promising, they put her off. Every whiff of a clue or hint of evidence swiped from beneath her nose. She was being made the fool. 

They all thought that she was an idiot; but she fucking knew she was right. She knew those bastard kids had been up to something, and last night fucking proved it! They had boxed her in, she heaved in a breath, boxed her in and laughed and catcalled as she feared for her life. They came at her like monsters in the dark, less like teenagers and more like rabid coyotes. They were fucking savages and she would wipe every, single one of them out if she needed to. 

Of course she needed to. 

No one could claim innocence. Not a one of them had ever been innocent. They were all fucking guilty. Every last one of them.

The enraged woman dragged frozen fingers through her hair as her eyes narrowed in on a couple that were suddenly being ushered from the station. She had not even seen them arrive. Had they been in there waiting for the morning patrol? The woman was wailing, her hands thrown up in the air like some demented banshee as her husband screamed at the officer that was pointing a stern finger right back. Yates. 

What the fuck?

The couple were creating one hell of a ruckus as they walked backwards and away from Yates' stern face; obviously trying to gain as much attention from the twitching blinds and curious neighbours as possible. A head peeked from a window here, a nose from a gap in a front door there. South Park lived for its gossip, lived for its stories and speculations. They were not very helpful at pointing fingers though, or giving actual leads. No... The people were far too afraid of the Knives to ever stick their noses in when it actually mattered. 

"You're useless! The whole fuckin' lot of you!" The man was on a tirade as he marched his shrieking partner away with one hand wrapped like a vice around her shoulder. "I tell you my son Butters is dead in the hospital, and you fucks won't even go and grab the maniacs that shot him!"

Hanihen froze, grip tight enough to hurt where she grabbed the wheel.

They neared her car, the woman all but falling to her knees with a wail so shrill Hanihen heard it in her teeth. "It was the Knives! The Knives shot my baby boy! Kenny McCormack did it, he killed him! He killed my Butters!"

Hanihen was out of the car, slamming the door with enough force that it quieted the dramatic pair, her hands lifting to straighten her jacket. For the first time in her life, guilt and shame were non-existent to her, she felt neither. The fact that she might have killed the kid just did not matter right now. What was one little Knife in the grand scheme of it all? One stupid kid with a stupid death wish was one less problem. There were more important things. 

She needed to put an end to it all. She needed to let them know that she would fight, that she would burn their sordid operation down to the ground. 

"Mr. and Mrs.... Stotch, is it?" Hanihen approached the couple with a grim line to her mouth. "My name is Officer Rita Hanihen and I've been put in charge of finding out who harmed your son. I wonder if you would be able to direct me to someone who might know where the... Knife gang... likes to regroup. We need to act fast."

The man's eyes were vindictive is his delight. He abandoned his wife where she sat sobbing in the street, striding towards Hanihen as he sized her up and down with a vicious grin. "Oh, I'll do one better. I'll bring you where no one else is allowed to know about, where my son was held captive by their second in command; the Killer." 

He bared his teeth in a delighted smile, eyes wicked. I'll show you where the bastards live."

###

He looked so very... small. 

A tiny, broken thing where he lay against the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed. He was helped breathe with a tube after his first bout of hysteria, whatever was keeping him   
alive obviously also keeping him from waking up and trying to tear through the hospital in search of Kenny. 

Not that the man was leaving his bedside anytime soon. 

Dark, blue eyes had stayed glued to that feeble form even as he shrugged out of his blood stained hoody and into the fresh set of clothes Stan had grabbed for him last night. His blonde hair was still streaked with Butters' blood; his face twisting into something dark and vicious when the nurses so much as tried to tell him to go home and shower. There was a patch of it on his forehead that Wendy had missed when she wiped his face with a wet towel. He sat at the end of the hospital bed like an avenging angel, his tall form hunched over Butters small, fragile body. 

Kyle watched through the hall window as Butter's machines began beeping, the boy's breath suddenly ragged before Kenny snapped out a hand to clasp around his twitching fingers. The beeping settled before the nurse on duty had even lifted herself from the station, her head shaking as she settled back down. 

"If he's stable after twenty-four hours, the doctor said he'll pull through."

Kyle felt numb as Eric crowded him from behind. In the reflection of the window pane, the man was a titan behind him. Broad and tall and furiously silent, Eric eclipsed Kyle's insignificant height with his mere existence. Pale fingers gripped the arm suddenly around his waist, Kyle's nails digging in to embed themselves in the man's skin. To make sure he was still there. 

"Butters is a fucking warrior, he'll pull through." 

Eric hummed his agreement, eyes dark. He pulled Kyle closer as he watched Kenny's shoulder drop and then heave in a silent sob, the white t-shirt he wore too big for his skinny frame. The man dropped his gaze, taking in the trembling redhead in his grasp. Kyle was taking in shaky breaths, breaths that he might not have had; were it not for Butters. 

His face. 

That piece of shit had been aiming for his face. A growl dragged from Eric's throat, his lips clamping on the sound in the quiet hallway. Still, it rumbled free, and Kyle went still in his grasp, lifting his fingers from where he was beginning to draw blood from Eric's arm.

"The cop..."

"She can't live, Kyle." Eric cut him off, voice dark and so very angry. "I don't give a shit how sensible you are, how against violence. She can't be allowed to live."

Kyle tore his eyes from Butters' tiny form to look up at the man behind him. The redhead's eyes were big in his pale face, wild and surprisingly free of tears. "She tried to kill Butters, Eric... Butters." Kyle's blinked once, softly before his lips twisted and he snarled, his voice venomous. "I want that psycho bitch fuckin' dead."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

The gunshot came out of nowhere. 

One moment, Damien had been sending them back to their houses, their hang-outs, that were littered around the pedestrianized street like some suburban paradise. The kiddies had been tired, faces drawn from a night of waiting around for a call from the Boss. 

They had left to saunter home with their defenses down, hands in pockets and nudging against one another with some off-hand comment of how they all looked like shit. 

In a second in the dreary, dawn daylight; the sound of a sudden gunshot had had them all freezing, eyes wide like deer caught in flood lights on an open pitch. Nowhere to hide. 

A sudden bullet clipped a red-haired one in the side, the woman going down with a shout that was more furious than pained; and then all Hell had fucking broke loose. 

Damien snarled as he dragged Roo back by the scruff of his collar, slamming the door shut against the sudden flurry of bullets that sounded amidst the sound of shouting and the screams of pain. Most of them had been outside, or already in their homes; red eyes took in the scant few that were still safe inside with him, landing on the scarred, dark-haired man that had stuffed his blonde partner into the shovel-wielding man's arms. 

Craig's lips were bared in a snarl, the emotion oddly captivating on a face so often devoid of anything but apathy. 

"That fuckin' bitch is here!" He roared at the Blonde to "stay the fuck put!" before darting towards the wall that made up the underneath of the staircase. A solid thump from his elbow in the right spot had a panel dropping to the floor with a bang, and he tossed it down with not a damn given to Token and Clyde as the pair approached him. He offered them one, terrifying look, before reaching into the shelved, hidden space and dragging out a handful of guns; which he shoved into their eager hands. "Don't say I never gave you nothin'."

Damien cocked an eyebrow, grinning despite the answering gunshots and furious yelling beyond the door, the sudden flair of an engine or two like thunder in his ears. The Knives were young and needed some serious life experience, but at lease they were fucking equipped. He caught the gun Token tossed at him and wasted not a second aiming it at Pip. 

The young man scowled where he had draped himself over Tweek's screaming body, "I know! I'm not goin' nowehere, Damien! Get rid of them!" 

The ruby eyed gang leader nodded once, his threat unnecessary. They had one chink in their armor with the little blonde half-dead in the hospital, they did not need another. The tiny noirette with the shovel was leaning back against the chimney breast, head tilted as he watched the outside slaughter with his teeth digging into his cigarette. "It is ze police pig," he hissed, eyes narrowed to slits, "she 'as one ozer beside her with a second gun..." 

Dark eyes widened a second before the man ducked, the window pane shattering with the speed of the bullet that zinged through and a litany of French leaving his lips like the most foul of curse words. "Stephen Stotch!" He hissed as he crawled along the ground, shoving at Pip and Tweek until the two were pressed into the cold ashes of the fireplace, hidden behind the stone wall. 

Craig snarled, snapping a gun holder to his hip as he pressed tight against Token where the pair were out of view of the main window. "What the fuck does that asshole think he's up to?"

The blonde by the name of Gregory was pulling on a pair of leather gloves, a smirk playing around his lips even as a second window exploded inwards with a bullet. He cast it barely a glance, as he shook the scattered glass from off his boot. "Well, that answers the question as to whether or not we take them in alive, then, doesn't it, chaps?" 

English, Damien noted with some amusement as he watched Roo practically foam at the mouth where he held the head-strong Hell Raiser back. He traded his grip on the boy's   
cuff to one wrapped viciously in his tawny hair and delighted in the sudden submission Roo awarded him. "And why, exactly, won't we be letting them bleed out on the pavement?"

Craig huffed something like a laugh, head shaking, "'Cause Stephen Stotch is Butter's fuckin' Dad." 

Butters... 

Princess. The hapless, pretty little blonde that Damien had gotten to watch bleed out, that Damien had gotten to watch break the stoic form of Killer in a split second. How had the Hanihen woman even found him? How had she even begun to convince the father of the boy she had fucking shot that he had to side with her and shoot up the place where his son was supposed to be living? Well, he supposed the Brit was right.

Now they needed to take them alive. 

He pulled Roo's hair with a twist, tossing his phone to the kid when he had his full attention. 

"Call Cartman. I wanna see what that vicious fuck can do with a knife." 

###

There were at least five down before the fight had even started, she noted. 

Hanihen had walked onto the street, leaving the two bystanders in the car with the intention to open fire on any piece of shit that tried to start something. She was going to take it down from the top. With or without the help of the stupid fucks she worked with. She was going to drag it down with her hands and slap the evidence onto Serge's fucking desk until the man had no choice but to see that she was right. She was right. 

They had been milling about like they hadn't a care in the world, laughing and joking like it was all one big fucking joke, fucking sickos. The gun she held in her right hand had come up before she had even made a conscious decision, ringing through the air to down the one furthest form the house they had been leaving. 

He fell in silence, eyes too shocked to even begin to open his mouth on a scream. Someone had screamed though, someone had screamed blue murder and lifted their weapon and Hanihen had responded in kind. The bullet tore through the girl, and the one after that. The chaos that ensued in the sudden noise, the sudden bloodshed had been like electricity in her veins. She dodged as they tried to aim at all, all nothing more than children playing with dangerous toys. No training, no skill in their clumsy fingers when caught unawares.

The sound of a car revving and skidding to a halt beside her drew her to a stop long enough to get a bullet grazed against her arm. She clutched the shallow wound with a growl, glaring at the Stotch man when he darted in beside her. His eyes were wild, his own firearm held outright as he added to her mess. Hanihen fell back for a moment as she watched the gang scatter, some leaping into cars and pulling away, running away. 

Children. 

Children running away. 

She gasped as she bent to grab her second gun, her eyes falling on the pale, very dead face of Linda Stotch in the front seat of the car. 

The woman had been shot in the head, eyes open wide as they stared back at Hanihen. The cop looked again towards the man who was firing at the windows of one of the street's largest houses, his grin maniacal. 

His wife had been shot and the man didn't even notice. Either that, Hanihen realised, or he did not give one shit. 

Her eyes landed again on the bodies that were strewn across the street, blood pooling so fast under some of them that it was started to smell. 

Raw and sickly-sweet, the taste like copper in the back of her throat. Hanihen gagged, raising her weapon when the doors of the house opened just as Stotch ran out of bullets, the man's chest heaving with his frantic breaths. 

"Okay, okay, you win Ms. Hanihen."

She lifted her finger off the trigger, eyes narrowed when the door swung open wide and Gregory sauntered out, his smile oh so easy-going. 

"You little shit, you were supposed to be on our side!" she snarled at the blonde, gritting her teeth when he held his hands up and sighed dramatically, his eyes big and sorrowful.   
"Indeed I was," he simpered, "and it was so very foolish of me to get so involved with these awful ne'er do wells. You were right, Ms. Hanihen, so very right. No one should have ever doubted you." 

The moment's acknowledgement, the briefest belief that someone had finally understood. Someone had finally fucking seen just how much she had been doing for this fucking town. She was right. She had always been right.

Her gun began to lower before she had a chance to realise her mistake, a chance to even defend herself against the door being opened further and a pair of red eyes baring down at her. The man's smirk was almost soft as he lifted the gun with such a speed that the sound hit her harder than the sudden explosion of pain in her shin. 

She stood, chest lifting in a tiny gasp, as those red eyes stared down the barrel of his gun and the man shot again, the second bullet lodging in the ankle of her other leg. 

Then she was down. 

Screaming and blinking down at the blood that had begun to soak the legs of her jeans. Her blood. Her legs. Her panic was all consuming as she snarled and tried to drag herself back to the car. 

Her legs... So she couldn't run away. 

There was laughter behind her, dark and dangerous and a third shot rang out followed by the sound of Stephan Stotch sprawling across the street floor. The man was roaring words that made no sense, clutching at his own leg with both hands as they were slowly closed in on. 

Hanihen felt more than saw the door of her car slam shut in front of her, eyes wild as she glanced up into the almost familiar brown eyes and blonde hair of the kid she had clipped with her gun only hours ago. He grinned down at her like a wolf might, teeth bared and pristine white and eyes alight with terrible, terrible thoughts. In that moment, it was almost easy to believe that he would grow fangs and tear her apart piece by piece. He would eat her alive. 

She had thought they were children. 

She hadn't realised she was dealing with demons. 

"You ain't goin' nowhere, babydoll." 

###

Cartman slid his phone back into his jeans pocket as he sauntered back towards where Kyle was pacing in the hallway. 

The little redhead was antsy, fired up and spewing all sorts of shit. He had a streak of blood on his neck that Eric was sure he wasn't even aware of, the boy's white t-shirt splattered in speckles of rust red. 

He was fucking beautiful. 

Eric had admired Kyle before, admired they way they boy's shapely legs looked in his washed out, skinny jeans. He had admired that ass that rounded to those perfectly curved hips, laughing in delight when Kyle caught him and pulled whatever hoody he had thrown on over his backside. 

He had admired his wild locks, his hair always giving him that fucked-out look that made Eric growl when he ran his fingers through it. He admired the boy's pretty face, china-doll delicate and porcelain pale with those big fucking green eyes all but bursting out of it. 

He admired him for his intelligence, for his book-smarts that so surpassed those of his peers; for his resilience and his strong sense of will that let him walk away from the only   
friends he had ever known; for his strength enough to be so fucking lonely and still help everyone around him. 

Eric had always admired Kyle, but when the redhead had heard his mother's voice suddenly shouting down the hall and those green eyes had narrowed to molten pools of fury; Eric thought he was going to cum in his fucking pants. 

The Broflovski woman was wailing like a bitch before she even rounded the final corner, her eyes locking on Kyle as she pointed a finger straight into his chest. She shrugged off her husband's hand on her shoulder, turning a blind eye to the nurses that were scowling at her and asking her to be quiet. 

"You!" she howled, stabbing her finger into Kyle's chest and grinding her teeth down at him. "This is all your fault that your baby brother got hurt! All yours, Kyle!" 

The redhead had shoved the woman back so quickly, she almost toppled. His hands fisted in the front of her blouse, hair falling over one of his furious eyes as he snarled back at her. 

"It's your fault we're as fucked up as we are, you fuckin' bitch! Don't you dare try to pin this one on me, Ma!" He had pushed at her again, earning an outraged shriek from the woman as she tried to round on him, her husband's arms fast to clamp around her substantial waist. 

"What did you just call me, Kyle Broflovski! How dare you speak to me that way!" 

Kyle turned a grin so feral on her, the woman all but took a step back, his voice nasty as he hissed back at her. "I'm done, Ma. I'm done with you. Do us all a favour and keep your fuckin' nose out of our lives in future, will you?"

He craned his neck to one side as he turned back towards Eric, the stiff movement popping the muscles there with a sound like a crack. He shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets with a narrow glance up at the tall man stood behind him; eyes dark.

"C'mon, Eric. We're done here."

It was with no small surge of victory that Eric reached down to wrap an arm around the redhead's waist, his eyes locked on the furious shape of Sheila Broflovski as he slanted his mouth over Kyle's. He watched her seize up with anger, nostrils flared, as he slid his tongue into the smaller boy's mouth and pulled the redhead closer; his fingers quick to thread through those fiery red locks. 

"We're heading back anyway," he purred down at Kyle, smile vicious. "The boy's got us a couple of presents."


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

The air was growing colder, a chill sweeping through downtown South Park as the sun climbed steadily higher in the sky. Despite it's best efforts, the clouds were dull and creeping forward and there was the subtle taste of metal in the air. 

At least it wasn't raining yet.

Stan heaved a sigh as he put a boot to the shoulder of one of the bodies strewn across the pavement. The kid was one of the new recruits, new enough that the older man couldn't put a name to the face. Not that he had much a face left to identify anyway. There were like little broken toys tossed across the empty street, and Stan was half-glad that he had gotten back to the base before the Boss and Kyle had made to leave. He was also furious that he had fucking missed it. The tall boy's jaw clenched, muscle jumping in his jaw as he ground his boot down into the dead recruit's shoulder, unknown eyes oddly blank as they stared up at the sky. Dead to the world. 

As dead and messed up as the one beside it. Stan's breath hissed in through his teeth as Red's angry, grey eyes looked up at him, her lips permanently twisted in a grimace where she lay sprawled across the stone. The bullet to her still bleeding side had taken her down, no doubt, but the bullet in her neck had kept her down. Trust her to look that angry with how she had had to go, even after all the life had been sucked out of her.

"Sorry, Red." Wendy was kneeling beside him, raking a hand through the girl's curls and eyes like steel as they glanced up at the smaller, dark-haired man in the blood-stained trousers that took a moment to stop beside her. 

"How many?"

Christophe cast her a glance as he closed his teeth around a cigarette from the crumpled carton he pulled form his pocket. He lit the thing before commenting, tipping his head back to blow the smoke into the sky. 

"Five. A few injured, but nozing zey cannot take care of zemselves. Damien's dogs ran zem back to zeir 'omes." The small man scowled down at the unknown kid, striking a boot out suddenly and viciously to kick the dead sod in the stomach. "Ze pitiful ones who ran will be soon taken care of. Gregory! Move your damn self!" 

"Coming, dear!" 

Gregory waved to him as he was making his way down the steps of Cartman's home, side-stepping the blood that left a trail across the stone. He paused for a moment to look at Pip, his mouth stretching in a manic grin as he reached up to tousle the boy's hair with a cheery, "toodles, chap!" 

The little blonde looked oddly numb, small and unsure, as he was held up against the side of another Hell Raiser, the two men behind him like smiling, snarling jackels. Christophe would have preferred to slice those grinning faces from their bodies with nothing more than his shovel, were it not for the pact. The Hell Raisers were not to be touched, that had been the Boss' orders from the beginning. Though his morals were lacking and his thoughts often murderous; Christophe knew how to be a good boy. He could listen to orders, follow through on demands even when they rubbed him the wrong way. Damien's dogs were safe from him and Gregory so long as Cartman kept charge. New recruits who ran away like squealing pigs however... 

They were his to take care of. 

Stan watched Gregory crowd Christophe away just as the smaller man's face became dark, all but flinging the Mole into the front of free car. The blonde offered Wendy a kiss on the cheek in goodbye, snapping his teeth at Stan with a friendly laugh before he got into the driver's side and took off. 

Weird fucking pair. 

But they would do what they always did, and take care of anyone who ever thought running from the Knives was even a remote possibility. You did not get to run away. They had made their fucking choice. He sighed as he grabbed another dead recruit, this one a dark haired girl he also had no name for, and tossed her body beside the other two. 

Five, Christophe had said. Five altogether... 

He spotted them with a snarl just as Wendy's sad little sigh met his ears. 

Henrietta and the Kid. 

The pair were a heart-breaking distance apart. Firkle, it looked, had fallen first. With a bullet straight through the middle of his thin chest, he looked as though he had died where he landed; knees bent beneath him and face soft. His eyeliner stained his cheeks in the watery sunlight, a sorry trail of tears long since dried. Henrietta, it seemed, had been reaching out for him despite the shredded mess of her mid-section. The blood was evident even against the black of her corset, she was so full of bullets. She was stretched across the stone, eyes wide and her fingertips lay just inches from Firkle's outstretched hand. 

Wendy caught the dead girl around the middle suddenly, her pale face furious as she gnashed her teeth together and dragged the heavier weight to the small pile they had made. 

"Fuck sake, Etta. You were supposed to be fuckin' clever."

Stan watched her for a moment, decidedly not saying anything when tears spilled against his girlfriend's cheeks. He glanced down again at the young boy, before rolling his eyes and lifting him up in a mockery of a bridal cradle. The kid weighed fuck all. He was small in Stan's arms, cold and still and eyes softly shut as if he was only sleeping. THere was no pulse beneath his neck though, no fluttering signs of life in him as blood spread sluggishly across his grey hoody. 

Stan wished he didn't know his name. 

"Someone better tell Boss to put a person on Ike," A voice sounded beside him as he lowered the little goth kid beside Henrietta with as much care as he could. With a glance, Stan looked at Craig, taking in the dark shadows beneath the other boy's eyes from lack of sleep. He looked about as shit as Stan felt. Tweek was thrown over one of his broad shoulders, the blonde blessedly asleep, or maybe just unconscious, after hours of screaming. 

"You think Ike cared about the Kid enough to do somethin' stupid?" Stan watched Damien approach with Pip tucked under one arm, the little blonde wide-eyed and stunned looking. 

Craig grunted, shifting Tweek's weight, "I think if Ike is even a a fuckin' tiny bit like Kyle; the kid will try and burn the town to the fuckin' ground, when he finds out" he side-eyed Stan before turning to head to his house, mouth twisting up in a sadistic little smile. "And he's tall enough to reach the fuckin' lighter fluid."

"Fuck." 

Stan watched him go with a groan, dragging a hand over his face. As if he didn't have enough to be dealing with, with all this shit. Where the fuck was Cartman to make a goddamn call when you needed him? 

"That little stowaway that got hit by the car," Damien hummed from beside him and Stan jumped before glaring at the older man. Ruby red eyes staring down at him did little to quell the shiver dancing along his spine with the sudden drop in temperature. How the fuck did the guy even do that? "That was someone of Kyle's?"

"His brother." Stan nodded, sneering in distaste when Wendy dragged the body of Linda Stotch over to join the small pile. 

Damien made a noise akin to consideration, his lips pursed. 

"Forget it," Stan huffed, grabbing the container someone handed him and up-ending it over the pile in front of him. The pungent stench curled his lip as he tossed it down, "Ike Broflovski won't fall in line. He doesn't owe us anythin', or you lot. We've years of a friendship, hard earned fuckin' trust when it comes to Kyle's loyalty. Ike is... different." 

If anything, those red eyes only seemed more interested. Pip clutched at the front of the man's shirt, his pale eyes unfocused where he was staring at the dripping mound of bodies. 

"An interesting family." 

Stan grinned, smile sweet as he glanced back at Omen over one shoulder, his eyes lidded. "Dude, every family in South Park is interesting." 

Damien watched him beckon a finger out to the dark haired beauty known as Legs, the woman tossing her own upended carton onto the small heap of bodies. "Give the mayor a call, would you Legs, sweetheart?" The noirette watched her nod and walk away, pulling a battered zippo from his pocket and flicking it aflame with one snap. "Let her know that we're having our bonfire night a tad early; and we don't need any more interruptions. Boss will be on to her about all of this."

With the softly spoken threat, the boy flung the lighter forward, into the gasoline-soaked bodies piled in front of him. His dark blue eyes were as bright as the flames that suddenly flared to life. With a dark chuckle, he took a single step back and offered Damien a grin.

"You don't get to live in South Park and not grow up a little... Interesting." 

###

The flames were licking the skies in the centre of the street as the car pulled up. 

Kyle watched it with a sort of distant fascination, his stomach rolling with the words he had spoken to his mother; as well as all the words he had wanted to say but had not. 

Another time, maybe. 

Right now, the world seemed to literally be alight with fire. 

Whatever had been burning was burning quick; and the redhead kept his head down as he got out of the car, because Kyle simply could not bring himself to think of the smoldering, black mounds as... people. 

Because they had to have been. Eric had told him as much. They had been attacked, they had been shot at, they had been cornered and some of them had died. The man didn't sugar-coat it, his voice low and dangerous as he had gripped the wheel and drove them home. 

Kyle moved as if on auto-pilot to Pip's side, his gaze on Eric alone as the man nodded towards Damien and the pair stepped to one side. 

The taller blonde all but leapt out of his skin as Kyle touched his arm, his green eyes enraptured with the flame. All the same, he slid his slender arms around Kyle's waist with a tremor to his touch when he noticed the other boy beside him. Pale green eyes stayed fixed on the roaring fire, cheeks pink with the heat of it. 

"I like fire." The blonde's voice was soft, a gentle rumble against Kyle's back as he rested his chin on the smaller boy's fiery red hair. "It's always led me to such... good things... It's why I followed you around, Kyle..." 

Kyle felt himself blink slowly, breath harsh with the scent and taste of smoke, and other things... 

The redhead watched the mounds turn to cinders, throat tight as he tried to swallow. "You shouldn't follow me, Pip," his voice sounded strangled. There was a pitch, just this side of panic, that crept into his tone. "Bad things happen to the people around me." 

His thoughts flashed once to Butters, to that solid hand on his own back as he was pushed away from the barrel of a gun aimed just for him. To blue eyes wide and filled with fear. 

And to Ike, whose battered body was lying broken in a hospital bed, his smile so very bright and his dreams hopelessly big. The kid was gonna go somewhere big, do something amazing. 

As soon as he got away from Kyle. 

"I'm bad luck." 

Pip cooed, burying his face in red curls and smiling against Kyle's ear when the smaller boy's breath hitched on a sob. 

"You're not bad luck, you silly chap," the blonde's eyes glinted when Kyle turned so very slightly to look at him, pink lips stretching over his teeth in a smile that was almost... demonic. 

"You just got your bad and your good all mixed up."

Kyle wasn't sure what the blonde meant by that, but could not seem to find the energy to question him where he stood wrapped in the boy's arms. It should have been strange, should have been unusual to feel so comfortable in the arms of a boy he barely knew while watching bodies burn in front of him. Maybe he was broken beyond repair, something in him having snapped and twisted enough for this to be okay. Maybe he had been broken all along, for the things Stan and Kenny and Eric to have done to never be enough to put him off trying to meet up with them. 

Maybe Pip was right, and he wasn't broken at all. 

Maybe it was alright, sometimes, to want to watch a little bit of the town he had grown up in burn away.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kyle watched the others trail away, Craig and Stan following Eric when the man beckoned to them with one finger. 

The flames were simmering still, desperately hot as an arm wound its way around his waist and he and Pip were led away. The glance he threw up at Damien was fleeting, the man's face more relaxed than he had ever seen it. 

"What were you and Eric talking about?" 

Damien shushed the question, fingers digging into the redhead's waist when Kyle opened his mouth to ask it again. He flinched at the tremble of almost-pain that flared across his midsection. Omen's brand. He kept his mouth shut. The man led them towards a bench fitted in the front of someone's garden; idyllic and quaint against the backdrop of sweet, suburban housing and the roaring bonfire filled with dead friends and strangers. 

Kyle sat with a sigh, jumping when something soft and dark red was thrown at him. He caught the hoody, turning to look at the Hell Raiser that had shrugged it off with a glare. "It's not exactly cold out." 

Token only offered him a sharp grin, the black eyed man jumping up to sit his backside on the stone wall behind them and planting his boots on the arm on the bench. Kyle rubbed the material between his fingers, eyes soft as he watched the other Hell-Raiser Roo battle Pip into his own hoody. The tawny-haired blonde paused in his struggles to glance at Kyle, mouth pinched in a small smile and blue eyes wild. "Gonna get cold real fast, babe. Shock's a bitch." 

With a furrowed brow, Kyle pulled the thing on, rolling up the sleeves with a growl when they slid over his hands. "I don't think I'm in shock though..." 

Damien was speaking with Wendy and a few other Knives, pointing them on a path or to an order with not even a whimper of hesitation from the lot. Kyle watched it with a sort of grim fascination. "Everything's gonna change..." he felt the corner of his mouth tick in something akin to a panic attack; and smothered it down with a hand in his hair. "Everything that's been going on... With the two gangs... It's not gonna be able to go back to normal after this, is it?"

"Fuck is 'normal'?" Token's voice was a growl, deep and filled with amusement. He gave a bark of a laugh when Kyle glared up at him, teeth flashing. "You're right though." He cast a flinty look in Damien's direction, and Kyle followed his stare to find blood red eyes focused on him. Patient. Waiting... 

"Doesn't mean change can't be a good thing." 

Kyle felt the corner of his lip twitch, his fingers digging into his thighs where he sat. Why was he sitting? Why the fuck was he sitting here? Like something damsel in distress? 

Something clutched at the inside of him... a something strange, creeping across his chest... a something unfamiliar and unclear that tilted his lips in the barest of grimaces.  
Crawling, tearing, shredding its own way across his heart. Like the time his blood had boiled so often in the past and he had thrown himself into stupid situations. Like every time Cartman had spouted some bullshit insult and incurred the little redhead's wrath. It was as warm as rage, brain-simmering, teeth-grinding rage... And all-encompassing like panic, like the thing that stole his breath form his lungs and left him helpless. Kyle felt his chest lift and fall with the sensation, his eyes wide and focused on the ground, blind to the world around them. 

He wasn't helpless. 

He wasn't in shock. 

He wasn't in the mood to be fucking minded like a fucking child. 

And they were all taking too fucking long. 

###

Eric watched them as they came back to life. 

A twitch of the hand here, a flicker of an eyelid there. 

The pair of them were flittering on the edge of unconscious, strapped down tight to metal chairs with lengths of rope cut quick and knotted quicker. 

The one on the left, he turned from with a shake of his head. His lips curved in a smile as he motioned for the man to be dragged off to one side. 

That was a gift for Killer. 

The basement was one belonging to one of the uninhabited houses in his territory, a place good enough and far enough that could be walked to in a hurry. The bare concrete floor held many a scratch or two, the stench of bleach still lingering in the air all the way down to the grated drains in each of the four corners. 

White-washed walls helped to show up any speck of dirt they may have forgotten, tiny dots of red so very visible against the pristine paint. The bulb that hung down from the centre of the high ceiling was the only source of light, stark and still and bright. There was one way, in or out, and that was the metal staircase that stretched across the wall behind Eric like one last shred of hope. The door at the top was heavy, dark and sealed tight; the only way those tied up were getting out of this type of room, was in a black sack. 

Steven Stotch woke with a sudden gasp of breath, his eyes frantic as they darted about the room. The man had probably seen better days, what with the lump on his forehead and his right leg at such a funny angle. His chest heaved beneath the ropes that bound him, gnashing his teeth against the gag in his mouth. Eric watched him drool, watched him try and snap his bindings with a wry smile. 

"You won't be going anywhere, Mr. Stotch, so save your strength." Stan dragged the chair further into the back corner, pausing for a minute before grinning and lifting his leg to kick the man hard in the chest. The chair went backwards with a clang, Stotch's muffled screaming incensed as his head collided with the hard floor and his struggling began anew. 

"Or don't," Stan shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, "you've only gotta stay alive 'till Killer gets a spare moment away from the hospital."

The grin Stan threw down at the suddenly frozen man was matched by Cartman's behind him. "What on Earth were you thinking, Mr. Stotch?" The taller man asked the question as though scandalised, though his dark eyes were alight with amusement. "Shooting like that into a neighbourhood of Butter's buddies? You could have hurt his feelings." 

The pair shared a look before dissolving into laughter. It was a nasty sound, filled with hate and spite; the laughter of those who had had to watch their people burn. The laughter of two men who had nearly lost something far more precious than the sack of shit man that struggled like a dying fish on the floor. 

"Dramatic fuckers." 

Clyde stole a glance down at the man that had appeared beside him as if by fucking magic. Grey eyes met his for the briefest moment, before a sneer stretched Ghost's lips and he lifted a finger to flip the Hell-Raiser off. 

Clyde snorted, leaning back against the rail as the apathetic youth joined the other two, slamming a heel down on Stotch's broken leg to make the man scream beneath his gag. He would have to disagree, he thought, from where he had been told to stand still and watch the goddamn door; they were not dramatic fuckers. They were dangerous fuckers. 

Clyde grimaced. How he had landed the honour of Bouncer duty, was anyone's guess. There was something happening beneath the smoke-black air upstairs and the smell of hot skin that followed them down even here. There was something evolving and changing in the dynamics in the way Damien and Boss had danced around one another. In the way, with barely a nod and a few words, Omen had wrapped an arm each around Pip and Kyle and dragged the boys away from the fire. In the way Boss had nodded towards Token and himself, one nod to follow the the boys and the other to follow him, the Boss. 

Satisfied though everyone had been with the truce, with the bare minimum between two gangs that had fit together almost too easily; it seemed as though there was more than that on the horizon. 

Bigger plans ahead, Clyde thought, as he watched Cartman snap all his attention on the pathetic thing that was Officer Hanihen. Bigger plans and bigger games... 

There was a groan, low and pained as muscles tensed in legs broken and bleeding beneath the poor excuse of a bandage someone had wrapped around the wounds. Tight enough that the bitch didn't bleed out and ruin the fun, had been the aim. She came awake much slower, with pained little huffs from an un-bound mouth and a glazed look to her eyes that fell away as soon as she locked eyes on Eric. 

The tall man hummed as he bent his knees to be eye level with her, shaking his head and relaxing back on his haunches. "And you, Officer." The brunette looked almost pained, face betrayed, "Firing on children?"

Hanihen tried to lash out in her seat, moving a scant milimetre as she hissed back at him. "You're all fucking sick," she spat, eyes wide and manic, "Sick, disgusting thugs who have done nothing but terrorise this town." 

"Disagree," Stan shook his head as he moved in front of the woman with Craig, the latter clucking his tongue with a firm "nuh, uh." 

Hanihen growled, spitting at the Boss and snarling when the glob landed between them, the gang leader's eyes dark with laughter. "You ruined this fucking place, you and your pathetic gang. South Park could be so much better without you." 

The statement was met with genuine amusement, a howl of laughter from Stan as he braced his hands on his knees. Craig huffed something of a laugh, his jaw ticking where he tried to hide a smile. "South Park is fuck all without us, lady, what part of that aren't you gettin' here?" 

Eric stood, his height casting a shadow on the woman's face with such a speed that she stumbled on her reply, her lips clamping shut. With a grace that spoke of years of practice, he unlatched the gun he held clipped at the small of his back and spun it on the Officer. 

"South Park is my fucking town, Officer Hanihen," His voice was soft, hand steady as he leveled the gun at her right shoulder and took aim. Pain tore through her as the sound of the gunfire rang in the concrete room, her body jerking back as she screamed. 

Eric leveled a glare down at her, taking in the tears that tracked down her cheeks and the wild cast to her suddenly frightened eyes. "The kids you killed were my fucking kids." 

He aimed again, high enough on her other shoulder that she almost heard the bullet whiz passed as it tore through muscle and bone, her teeth clenching down hard enough on the wail of pain that her lip began to bleed. The heated metal of the gun beneath her chin tipped her head up from where she had begun to heave. Light spun in front of her eyes, her arms heavy and her thoughts far heavier. 

"That was my fucking friend you shot." The barrel of the gun dug into her neck and Hanihen felt her blood grow cold. There was nothing in the gold eyes staring down at her that she would even remotely call human. In Eric Cartman's eyes, there was not even warmth of colour to drown out the dept of contempt she could feel baring down on her. He would kill her, and he would walk away without an ounce of remorse... Without an ounce of regret... Those were not the eyes of a young boy caught up in something too big for him to be caught up in. Hanihen's frantic breaths were turning wet in her own ears, panicked and sharp and furious; and still she bared her teeth at him. She would fight him. Until he tore the very last breath from her body, she would fight him.

A sudden sound of shoes on metal, quick feet stepping down as a voice called out from the open doorway to 'come back!'. 

Eric raised an eyebrow as he glanced over to where Kyle had jumped the last step, the redhead decked in a hoody someone must have given him as the fire died down. Blood-red and striking against his pale skin; it was too big, catching on his denim clad thighs and with sleeves that fell down over his hands. The small boy rolled them up with a scowl as he turned enough to kick Clyde in the crotch when the man made a grab for him. With wide, green eyes focused solely on the man in front of him, Kyle edged forward. His red hair was wild but dragged back, slender fingers scraping through the curls until they lay flat. Eric grinned, smiling down at him. "Now how did you get away from Damien?" 

The taller man watched Kyle with no small amount of amusement as the boy elbowed his way between Craig and Stan. The redhead kept his gaze upright, eyebrow cocked. "You seem to be under the impression that Damien, you or anyone else gets to tell me what the fuck to do." His voice was put out, the petulant snap of a toddler denied something. He turned his stony gaze down on the woman strapped to the chair in front of him, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

"And everyone seems to be under the impression that this needs to be drawn out anymore than it already fucking has been." With a speed that rivaled Craig's own, Kyle had snatched the gun from Cartman's hand and walked forward enough to be knee to knee with the bleeding, heaving police woman. With pale, nimble fingers he wedged the weapon against her head as he stretched his arm outright, red curls dropping down over one eye as he tilted his head to the side. 

Hanihen reared back from the kid, cringing at the pain that ripped through her with the movement. Green eyes blinked down at her, the boy's mouth ticking in the corner like he had something to say. Hanihen snarled. 

"You're all crazy." 

The redhead gave a laugh, short and high and terrifying. The sound shot down her spine like a lump of ice as she stared up at the teenager. His eyes were fucking alight, bright and filled with something almost unhinged as he careened forward into her space. "You wanna see fucking crazy?" he whispered, sliding the gun down her temple until it rested just beneath her jaw.

Green eyes bore down on her with a weight the kid had no right to and Hanihen felt her own body tense as if to run. 

Instinctual. 

Fight or flight... 

If she had been free and met those eyes on a dark night... She would have run. 

"I'll show you fucking crazy." 

And he pulled the trigger.


	29. Chapter 29

Ike flexed the fingers of his broken arm slowly, resting the heavy cast on the edge of the armchair he lounged in. 

The hospital room was bright and crisp, the flowers his friends had sent a splash of colour against the pristine white. He had been stuck in this room for two days now, and he was ready to leave. 

His head felt more or less back to normal, a freshly shaved patch just at the nape of his neck showing the cluster of stitches that tugged on his skin every so often. His face, he knew, was just as bruised as his torso but at least the swelling had gone down. 

As far as the fifteen-year-old was concerned, he was as healed as the hospital would get him; the rest he would have to do on his own. Naturally, his mother had had something else to say on the matter, but there was only so much control the woman had in regards to her youngest son and they all knew it. 

Dark brown eyes cast a glance down at his phone clasped in his good hand, tapping the edge against the foam of the chair slowly. In the hours he had been stuck in here, he had had a flurry of messages from his friends, from people at school who punctuated their sentences with weeping emojis and pink hearts. The calls, he had left unanswered except for one or two from his father. 

None from him. 

No calls. 

No visits. 

No chance, then... 

Ike was no fool. He was not some love-struck, hormonal train-wreck waiting for life to deal him a miracle. You made what you could of what was given to you and you recognised each hit for the opportunity it could be. He knew this. He knew there was a balance in the universe that meant things that were good did not stay good forever. There was no universal constant that stated the world revolved around his positive emotions. There was the good and the bad, the ups and the downs... 

And his up had been steady for a while now, which meant that there was always going to be a plummet back down.

The young boy's chest rose with a sudden breath, eyes misting for the briefest moment before the sudden click of the door opening had him looking in that direction. 

"Hello Stan." 

The older boy's face only confirmed it, smile wide and handsome, eyes sincere. Ike watched him run a hand through his dark hair, dropping himself onto the freshly made hospital bed. Stan Marsh was every bit the open book he had been as a kid, and he fidgeted with the sleeves of his top with the same nervous tick he always had when he had bad news.

"Hey, Ike! Ah, Kyle would've come with me but he's in a bit of a weird head space at the minute... Boss is lookin' after him though." Blue eyes glanced up to take in the cast, the bruises with a subtle grimace, "How are you feeling?"

Ike watched him, eyes blinking slowly before he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

"He didn't suffer, did he?"

He felt more than saw Stan stiffen, "Kyle? No, man, no Kyle's fine!" 

Ike hummed, tapping the fingers of his broken arm against the chair and ignoring the flex of pain it brought with it. It hurt, sure, but it was nothing like the hurt in his heart at the moment. 

"Firkle, Stan." 

He met the sudden silence with a sigh, dropping his head back down to stare at the boy he had known his whole life. 

"I'm asking you if Firkle suffered. That is why you're here with me, isn't it? I know Kyle's fine," he gave the smallest smile, brown eyes wide and sad. "If he wasn't, you'd be outside tearing down the town with the guys." 

Ike leaned on his good arm to straighten himself, crossing his legs so that the denim pushed into his skin. Stan's face was wary, his shoulders tense as he shoved his hands in his pockets. With a sigh, he nodded. 

"Yeah, yeah... That's why I'm here." 

Ike waited, head tilting to one side as he watched Stan get his bearings. Sometimes people seemed so... Slow... to react to the things happening around them. Ike liked watching people, he would almost call it a hobby.He liked memorsing faces, liked getting to know personalities through their little inconsistencies and expressions. He had liked to watch Firkle's face.

"We don't think he did," The noirette eventually said, shrugging one shoulder up mindlessly. "There was a scuffle, somethin' that didn't need to fuckin' happen. Firkle was caught in it, he didn't hurt anyone else. It looked like he went down quick... I hope he went down quick." 

Ike's fingers clenched in the fabric, the boy leaning into the sharp, red-hot pain that lanced up his arm. What would Firkle's face have looked like in that moment? Shocked, Ike supposed as he grit his teeth. 

Confused? 

Disbelieving? 

... Scared?

"Alright."

"Alright?" Stan mimicked, his gaze intent and his eyes surprised. The younger boy could feel it without even looking.

Ike smiled, a lopsided tilt of something pained and soft. "Alright, Stan. Thanks for letting me know. You can leave, if you want." 

Stan stood slowly, biting his lip for a moment in thought and a furrow on his brow. "You gonna be okay, Ike? I know you two were close..." 

Ike tilted his head back to take in the ceiling. It was shorter than most ceilings in other, newer rooms of the hospital. He was sure that if he stood and raised his arm above his head, he would be able to skim it with his fingertips. He hummed another non-commital sound, ignoring the tears that pooled quickly in the corner of his eyes, and blinking them away. Memories of happy smiles and surprised laughter flickered like something fluttering in the wind. Trapped in the corner of his thoughts forever.

Resigned. 

Alone.

Scared.

"We all gotta take our own risks, don't we?" Ike whispered the words, lips pressing together in a firm line. 

The idea of his scholarship, his new life and new school loomed on the edges of his mind; thoughts of making a name for himself as a celebrity fading like sand between his bruised and shaking fingers. Firkle could never follow him there now. Firkle would never cheer him on from the sidelines now. 

But, if Ike was patient... If he played everything right... It would be just another opportunity. 

Ike stood up, ignoring the small jump Stan made at the sudden action. The boy looked at him, eye to eye in height despite the years between them. 

"I think I might get into politics." Ike leaned into the older boy's space, "Don't you think the politics in South Park are a bit dated? Not to mention how jaded the mayor is looking." 

He took in Stan's worried look and wary eyes. Trepidation, concern for his reaction, for his mental stability; but he had never felt more stable, more sure of something in his entire life. He saw the emotion in Stan's face and knew the boy would never get it, no one would if he were to lay out the plan taking shape in his head. Everyone was just so easy to read, so easy to predict. Even his little Superman. 

Scared, little Superman.

Ike would never again glance over his shoulder and see those kohl-lined eyes looking up at him with complete, devoted trust. He would never hear Firkle's laugh again. He would never sense the boy trailing after him to try and take him by surprise. 

No... Firkle would never follow him again.

But the town of South Park, one day, would.

###

Kenny was fitful even in his brief sleep, his hands clasping down on the small one held between them and his shoulders tense where he sat on the hospital chair. 

He came awake with a sudden soft breath dragged between chapped lips, blue eyes flaring wide as he straightened to stare at the nurse that had come in to the room. 

She barely cast him a glance anymore, ducking her head as she moved to check the machines around the frail thing pressed into the bed, adding another dose of medicine to another tube before all but running from the room. Afraid, but the only one brave enough to worry about her patient's health in spite of the foreboding presence he gave off. Kenny would remember her face, she was one of the good ones. 

He was decked in a fleece he knew belonged to Stan, the other Knife having dropped by only an hour ago to check in on them. Kenny had left him with Butters long enough to wash in the attached bathroom, his body shivering beneath the tepid spray as he watched the rusted, orange colour of dried blood drain away. 

His hair had been matted, ignored the past two days in favour of running a comb through Butter's blonde locks. 

The boy would have been mortified in anyone saw him with messy hair. 

Kenny's thoughts had been silent, his mind oddly numb as he dressed in the warm clothes and caught the sandwich Stan had thrown in his direction when he came back. The taste had not even registered, just something to keep him going while he sat by Butters's side. 

Stan had left with a sigh, clasping Kenny hard enough on the shoulder to draw a grunt form the blonde and a nod of ackowledgement. 

And he had gone back to staring at the tiny, sleeping thing that was Leopold Stotch. 

His hair was pristine, tidied back by Kenny's hands in a way he knew the younger boy preferred. His pale face was soft in sleep, pink lips parting over each breath and eyelashes dark against his flushed cheeks. There was something pushing oxygen through his nose, the plastic tube alarming against the boy's otherwise peaceful face. One thin arm lay above the bed sheets, an IV hooked into the crook of his elbow to keep him hydrated. It was beneath the sterile white sheets, Kenny thought, that's where the trouble was. 

The wound was below Butter's lungs, a miraculous hit that had missed every vital organ, but torn a path of shredded chaos through the boy's abdomen. The opening had been small, but they had needed to lengthen it to retrieve the bullet. 

Kenny's fingers clenched in a spasm, eyes blinking as he recalled watching the nurse change the bandages. He had hissed when the entire mess had been opened to the air, the slice clinical and raspberry red where it stretched from under one of Butter's ribs across to the other. The staples holding it shut were vivid and solid, and the skin around it all had been yellow. 

Kyle had flashed before his eyes briefly. The sight of the boy gasping and sobbing on Cartman's couch as the Boss watched him, the man's fingers digging into the fabric of the loveseat. 

How Eric had killed so few after what they had done to Kyle, Kenny would never know. 

He had barely caught a glimpse before the wound was re-wrapped, and it was enough to have him snapping his teeth at the nurse and sending her fleeing back outside. 

The blonde heaved a sigh, slouching back in the chair and turning back to face...

Butters was awake. 

Kenny felt his breath freeze in his throat as big, blue eyes stared up at him. 

The boy's chest lifted in a sudden, shuddering breath, his lips twisting in a grimace of pain as he lifted a shaking hand to touch the tube under his nose. "Ken...?"

The tawny-haired blonde stared down at him, hands clutching on the one in his grasp. 

Butters smiled, a wobbly, half-broken thing that forced a sob from Kenny's lips, his heart all but cracking in the inside, Kenny was sure. He could feel it.

"Oh my God..."

Butters made a soft sound, lifting his small hand to pat at Kenny's head despite the IV line that almost tugged him back. "Awww," his voice was hoarse, sweet but hushed,"Don't be crying, silly, I'm right here!" 

Kenny felt his eyes fill with tears, his chest heaving with the force of the sobs he had not realised he was even making. "Butters, you were... They said you... She... Oh my God, Butters you've no idea..."

Through his ramblings, Butters hushed him, patting his hair and smiling his bright, little smile. "I'm right here, Ken... I told you before, didn't I?" 

He chuckled at the confused, broken look Kenny cast down at him, tugging on the boy's hands until their face were inches apart and Butters could look into the dark, blue eyes that had followed him across his dreams. His Kenny... Always looking out for him... 

The small blonde grinned, clutching his fingers into damp, tawny blonde curls. "I ain't goin' nowhere."


	30. Chapter 30

~~Ten Years Later:~~

"Higher than that, Butters, c'mon!" 

"You try and reach it then, if my stretchin' ain't good enough for you!"

"If we get Kyle to hang it up, everyone's gonna have to step over it."

Kyle scowled, jabbing a finger into Tweek's side when the taller man snorted and threw a dramatic look down on him. The redhead stuck his tongue out, shaking the end of the sign that he was clutching towards the other blonde. 

"I see it, I see it, hold your horses!" Butters grinned as he snatched the other end, stretching out against the chimney breast to tack the long, silver, 'congratulations!' banner into place. The blonde winced as he put his feet back down, stretching out the tight muscles in his torso that left him with one hell of a limp when the weather was freezing. A reminder, he saw it as, of just how bad things could get in his life. The blonde took a step back to admire his work, pushing Kyle out of his way with a chuckle as the redhead lost his balance and went barreling into Tweek. 

But life could be good too. 

"We've still got three more to hang up!"

~

Craig watched Tweek land in a heap beneath Kyle, the redhead whipping around a mop of furious looking curls as he growled up at Butters quiet chuckle. Tweek all but dragged the shorter man to his feet as he straightened out, the odd, subtle twitch the only thing about the blonde's demeanor that let Craig know that he had gotten too little sleep last night. 

"Should we help them?"

"Fuck no."

Craig tsked at Clyde, scowling up at the brunette and cupping his hands around the cigarette hanging out of his mouth to light it. He inhaled with a hiss, dropping his head back to blow the smoke into the taller man's face. "You want to take over decoration duty and have to listen to Kyle bitch that it's not in the right fuckin' angle or somethin'? Fuck that, man." 

Token rumbled a laugh behind him, lounged against the living room wall with his broad arms crossed across his chest. "I think they're doin' just fine. They've got two banners up in the space of..." The dark man glanced down at the watch on his wrist and snorted, teeth flashing white in a smile, "half an hour." 

"Christ," Craig ignored Clyde's insistence that they help, flipping the man off with barely a glance in his direction when Clyde poked him in the back. 

"You go help, I'm gettin' a goddamn drink." 

~

The small kitchen was too fucking full of people, Stan growled as he swiped at his forehead, catching the sweat dripping there as he bent across the counter to open the window and let in the weak, summer breeze. 

"It's fuckin' hot in here."

"Well spotted, Craig." Stan rolled his eyes, switching off the oven that was generating the majority of the heat. Why had Kyle insisted on making the food for the party? They could have gotten shit delivered, it would have meant less to fucking clean up,too. 

"You better hope his sausage rolls are done, Kyle doesn't like it when someone messes with his food."

"I checked." Stan grabbed the offered beer, tilting his head back to neck a mouthful before squinting back at Kenny. The blonde was in a new blue shirt, more than likely one that Butters had picked out for him, and his hair was a mess. Half of that was probably due to the fact that Kenny McCormack just did not like to comb out his curls, would go so far as to say he was morally against it. The other was probably due to the two year old girl sitting on his hip with one of her pudgy fists locked into the blonde tangles. 

Stan swamped the beer and slid the bottle down on the counter behind him, holding his hands out with a smile and gathering the small child up with a laugh. "Hello my little sweetheart, how are you? Look at that pretty dress, who's got a pretty dress?"

Nancy cooed up at him, her blonde locks wild about her round face and her brown eyes wide. She babbled up at him, some words solid and the rest a mash of infantile ramblings, her little hands pulling at the edges of the bright pink dress Butters had fluffed her out in. "Where's Billy?" Kenny stretched his arm out with a grimace. 

Stan settled his godchild on one hip, nudging Kenny's side and pointing him to where Wendy stood across the kitchen. The woman was smiling wide as she chatted to Roo and Bebe, the pair wrapped around one another as only new couples tended to be. On his wife's hip was a child a year older than Nancy, the boy's black locks silky and straight and his eyes a near replica of his mothers. "He was fussin', might have to put him down for a nap before the guest of honour arrives. Kyle has the spare room upstairs set up for them just in case." 

Kenny hummed, watching from his point against the oven as the front door opened and Pip stumbled in, such a vast amount of balloons in the small man's grasp that Kenny was surprised he hadn't just floated off on the way here. Damien followed him at a more sedate speed, a phone at the his ear. 

"Can't believe he actually went and did it though."

Stan shrugged, grabbing a chicken nugget from a nearby tray and blowing on it before handing to to Nancy, grinning when the kid screeched her delight, "I mean, he said he would, last time he came for a visit. Kyle seemed to believe he would. I dunno, man, there's just something about the guy that you can't help but trust." 

"He's one of the good guys, that's why." Kenny watched Nancy show off her nugget to Craig as the man ducked behind them for a beer. The noirette nodded once to the infant, before ignoring everyone else and making his way out. 

"Yeah, I guess."

~

Eric was braced against the outside wall of City Hall, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to the elbow as he pulled on the cigarette held in the fingers of his right hand. The navy blue slacks he wore were pristine and pressed, the matching jacket slung in the boot of his car. He was never too fond of monkey suits anyway, but he had to make an impression. 

The months and years leading up to this particular event had been meticulously planned. Perfectly laid out in a way that ensured a victory for all parties involved.   
It was not the initial plan that he had envisioned for South Park on his rise to power all those years ago, but it was one that would work nonetheless. Possibly better in the long run, if he was being honest. 

He flicked the butt of his light aside, blowing out the acrid smoke as the doors to his right were suddenly opened and a flood of reporters stumbled over themselves to spread out. Scrawny as they were, they were still vultures and Eric felt his lip curl in distaste as they scuttled about, some eyeing him with wide eyes and elbows nudged into the backs of their camera-men. He paid them no mind. 

They were here to catch an elusive comment or two from the town's newly appointed mayor, the youngest ever elected official in the history of South Park; a story and a half to run back to the papers with after the length of service Mayor McDaniels had put in. 

"You needn't have picked me up, Eric. I do know where you like to hide my brother, you know." 

Eric shrugged away from the wall, casting a smile at the man himself as Ike Broflovski appeared beside him. The younger man was shorter, but only by a scant inch or two. His black hair was clipped and professional, his own shirt unbuttoned at the collar and with the sleeves rolled up to beat the heat. "Now, what kind of a brother in law would I be if I didn't even collect you and bring you to your party? Kyle's been workin' so hard to get the place set up for you."

Ike grinned, his face classically handsome in a way that the man was most assuredly aware of. His dark eyes were lidded as they took Eric in, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his black trousers and the other carrying his coat and briefcase. Though his bright yellow tie was slung a tad low, the man was the pinnacle of political power and presentation. 

And he knew it. 

Eric held a hand out towards his car, flashing a smile full of teeth at the apprehensive reporters flicking their cameras and microphones in their direction. Ike paid them no mind, alloting only a cheery wave at the crowd before following the taller man to the car. 

Only when the pair were seated and the road was rolling beneath them, did Ike let the charming smile drop from his face. 

"Stan's working out well as Police Chief, from what they've told me. I didn't think he'd pass the exam on the first go." 

Eric grunted, propping his elbow on the window of the car. "Was a good idea, but it suited us better to get him in there first, less talk, less gossip. Now he's your friendly, neighbourhood policeman. They trust him."

Ike smiled, a fleeting, soft thing. 

"My brother doing the college course he did was a good idea too. He's saved more than a few people's asses. I'll be able to call in a few favours to get him appointed as City Attorney. or Finance Director, at least." 

Eric grinned. Of course it was a good idea, it had been Kyle's. His little redhead was chock full of them.

"Give it a few weeks for your fans to stop clamouring at your windows before you announce the City Manager, there's only so many rumour mills I can have Bebe squah through Channel 4 news. She might be makin' love-heart eyes at Roo, but that doesn't mean she can't be a bitch when she wants to be." 

Ike snorted, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I already have Damien's name down, and the resume Pip did up for him is with the rest, ready to be 'filtered through'. Half the Council is retiring in the next year, this will all stand to us in time if we do it right." The younger man glanced over at the brunette, taking in the man's profile. "You sure I can't tempt you with a position, Eric? You clean up nice in a suit." 

Eric's grin was feral as he flicked golden eyes down on Ike, "You eyein' me up, kid? Don't tell your brother I might trade him in for the younger model, he may just slice your fuckin' balls off." 

Ike cackled, slapping a hand down on his thigh and shaking his head. The taller man turned into the neighbourhood no one dared to drive down unless invited, his lips still stretched in a smile. 

"Nah," Eric said, "I've got enough on my hands keepin' this town clean. And keepin' your shithead of a brother in hand." 

~

Kyle combed his hands through his hair with a growl, pulling the curls back to tie in a low ponytail. He would need to get it cut soon or face Wendy's well-meaning attempts to style it. Badly. Again.

He glanced around the living room, taking in the banners and balloons and the tables lined with home-cooked food with a small smile. Ike always preferred something simple cooked at home to takeaways. Kyle grinned. His brother the mayor. He always knew the kid would go on to do something big, to make a difference; and here it was. The youngest mayor South Park had ever seen and he had won in a landslide against all the rest. Ike was charismatic, he was funny and he had ideas that appealed to just about anybody swooning over him on the television. 

He had always been a crowd favourite. 

"They're back!" 

Kyle jumped, scrambling to lean against where Butters was half-hanging out of the front room window. Nancy was perched on her bum against the open frame, Butters' arm wrapped tight around her as he waved her little hand at the car pulling up in the drive. Kyle squeezed the man's side, grinning up at the blonde and planting a kiss on the top of the toddler's blonde curls. She peered up at him with her dark eyes, mouth wide with a shrieking laugh. Adopted or not, Kyle thought the kid was the spitting fucking image of Kenny. 

The redhead moved to race towards the front door, his grin wide enough to hurt his cheeks as he waited for it to open. He brushed any crumbs from the front of his shirt and scowled when he saw the rusty, red stain clinging to the edges of the pale yellow cuff around his wrist. 

See, there was a reason he always wore red when he played. 

With a sigh, Kyle rolled the sleeves up deftly and turned in time to find Cartman at the door, aiming a sly smile in his direction. 

Life was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to comment, kudos, bookmark and enjoy this story.


End file.
